


Means to an End

by Fallingtowardsoblivion



Series: Justifying the Means [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Merlin, Bad Parenting, COMFORT OK, Drunk Sex, Emotionally Constipated Arthur, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fights, Flashbacks, GET IT, Gentleman Thief, Government Conspiracy, Guns, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Inspector Arthur, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, LITERALLY, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin and Arthur do the dirty, Merlin is a self sacrificing POS, Merlin is such a badass, Merthur - Freeform, Mild torture, Minor Merlin whump, Non-Graphic Violence, Off screen Torture, One Night Stand, Orphans, Past Drug Addiction, Police Arthur, Sad Backstory, Stoner Gwaine, Thief Merlin, Vigilante Merlin, angsty af, good shit tbh, haha - Freeform, magical sex, omfg, orphan Merlin, scientific experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 42,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtowardsoblivion/pseuds/Fallingtowardsoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Emrys.</p><p>An inspector’s nightmare. Robin hood’s wet dream. Arthur’s life for the past seven years.</p><p>The man was a mystery, enigma – nearly a myth, if it wasn’t for a thin folder in Arthur’s desk full of grainy photos, eyewitness accounts and scraps of books to prove otherwise. To say he was a thief would be to not do the man justice; Emrys was so much more. He was a revolutionary, a master of disguise, an obvious intellect, an artist, and an omen. </p><p>He was a proper adversary."</p><p>Arthur has been on the trail of Emrys, infamous thief and even more elusive man, for nearly his whole career. It's been a game of cat and mouse, traversing across the globe. That all changes one day, though, when Arthur gets an unexpected visitor and unwanted information. Suddenly, the Inspector's world is turned upside down, as he is shoved into a conspiracy of epic proportions, and forced into an underworld he never expected existed - with one sole goal: save Emrys before it's too late. But with the clock counting down, opposing loyalties rearing their ugly heads and run-ins with the law, can Arthur save Merlin before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silver_hearted_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_hearted_girl/gifts).



> Hey guys, I've been wanting to write this for a while now. I'm going to try and update every couple of weeks, but no promises!
> 
> Anywho, enjoy!

 

Merlin dove, shoving his body, along with the tan, burlap sack, to the side just in time to miss the knife now quivering and embedded within the hardwood floor two inches from his head. Even as he let out a sigh of relief, though, another knife came distressingly close to where his pale neck was exposed, and a volley of gunfire could be heard ricocheting down the hallway.

_Perfect_.

Merlin jumped up, grabbing the two knives and sack, deflecting a third headed straight for his abdomen with a quick flash of silver. It clattered to the floor, useless.

Ignoring the ache in his ribs and the throbbing cut on his upper thigh, Merlin broke out into a sprint, flying down the hallway and away from the hell-bent hired hand that most definitely was _not_ a cleaning lady (if the two dozen knives on her persons was anything to go by). He was actually surprised that he hadn’t ended up as a smear on some wall yet, what with the fact that he could barely feel his left foot.

But never mind that. It wasn’t like retaining all his body facilities was _important_ or anything.

With a grunt, Merlin took a sharp right, coming abruptly to a staircase, winding and grandiose and totally _unnecessary_ and unhelpful in a high speed chase, because who the _hell_ wants to go in circles when they’re getting fucking _knives thrown at them?!_

Which ah, _yes_ , right there about a foot from his arm in the wood paneled wall, there was a fresh, unappealing _knife_. Speak of the devil. The maid was rounding the end of the hallway, heading full-tilt towards the warlock, her face scrunched in concentration.

 Merlin had to give it to her, she was actually a pretty good shot.

Only the best for the Pendragons, though. Gardeners wielding machetes, maids throwing knives, and let’s not even mention where in the hell that butler had been stashing that AK-47. Bloody obnoxious, was what it was.

But then there was a second, much closer and equally less friendly knife embedding itself in the wall next to Merlin’s head, ripping him from his reveries, and then he was once again faced with the  bloody staircase, though of course going in circles just wouldn’t _do_ , so instead –

The distance to the ground was about a floor and a half. Merlin jumped, equally pleased and terrified with the sensation of his guts lodging in his throat. Then he was landing, tucking his body into the fall even as his already sprained ankle gave out beneath him.

He gave a cry, the thief biting his lip to the point that he tasted a flush of sharp iron on his tongue. Merlin’s head swam, as though he were immersed in cotton, and the pain was nearly unbearable. Scratch that; his ankle was now certainly _broken_.

_Fuck_.

His magic threatened to emerge, pushing at the surface of his skin, prickling and angered at his recent, purposeful negligence.

He couldn’t let it out though – not now. Not with witnesses. And gods, Merlin didn’t want to have to kill all the groundskeepers in the building. Not just so that he could let his eyes flash gold, and make an easy escape (because of course there could be no witnesses – not when magic wasn’t even _real_ ). After all, for them, it was just a job. No one was truly loyal to the Pendragon Dynasty. Just employed.

So Merlin pushed the magic down, swallowed down the waves of pain radiating from, well, _everywhere_ , and rucked the unassuming sack on his shoulder up a bit further.

Then, he broke out into a sprint. Which, in hindsight, was bloody _stupid_ , considering his _broken ankle._

As a matter of fact, Merlin made it exactly to the _front door_ of Pendragon Manor (because his brain was too addled by the pain from running on a _broken ankle_ to actually think of a decent, unassuming escape route). And just as he collapsed against the garishly overdone wooden door, Merlin had the dawning realization that witness or not, he _had_ to use his magic. And fast.

Because the dots flashing at the edge of his vision was a bit too close for comfort.

So, just as maid-from-hell rounded the corner, Merlin metaphorically popped the cap off of his magic, letting it loose with what would probably have been a brilliant display of light, noise, sound, etc, etc, yadda, yadda –

He was actually too busy trying to concentrate on his piece of shit flat near Chinatown, London, and not passing out to notice the light show.

And then the warlock felt a familiar, uncomfortable sucking in his gut that always seemed to accompany his teleportation, and was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Because the next thing he knew, he was breathing in dank, musty air, the sweat that had been beading on his brow nearly instantly freezing due to the infamous draft in his flat.

Then he was falling out of consciousness, the rucksack slipping from his grip.

Then there was nothing; and for that, Merlin was thankful.

 

***

 

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Arthur said, his jaw hanging rather uselessly open as he listened to the tinny voice in the phone repeat itself.

“I’m saying, sir, that Pendragon Manor has been broken into.”

Arthur gave a sigh, massaging his forehead in an attempt to make the growing headache in it dissipate. He suddenly felt intensely tired.

“Look, I get that Uther is my father, but I don’t see what he expects by having you contact me. He should be calling the _police_ , not me. It’s below my pay grade.”

Arthur could almost hear Leon rolling his eyes on the other end of the line, because they both knew that it was more than just rank at play here. Ever since Arthur’s falling out with his father, things had been… touchy at best.

“Sir, with all due respect, I believe this is in fact within your pay grade. Witnesses on the scene all are describing the perpetrator as a tall, cloaked man, late twenties.”

“Could be nearly anybody.” Arthur quickly nullified, though he had a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Well, there’s also a page. You know how he is. From ‘The Prince’ by Machiavelli,” Leon snorted, momentarily forgetting the weight of the situation.

Arthur sighed, placing his half-consumed coffee back on his desk. “What did it say?” He asked – though of course, they all already knew what it would say.

Leon sighed. “The usual. ‘In exchange for the liberation of goods. Signed, Emrys.’” And Arthur could just see it. The looping cursive covering a random page from a random book – usually one that cannily matched whatever corrupt pursuit that said robbed persons was involved in. In Uther’s case, that would of course be politics – being the head of state and all. Leon had jokingly said that it was Emrys’ way of recommending books. Arthur thought it was something more. Stupid, but more. After all, sending a message to the corrupt and rich through a page of a book was a perfect example of exactly how righteous and dedicated a man Emrys was.

Arthur bit his tongue else he let out a rather immature groan, instead taking a moment to drag a hand through his hair. “Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.” Then he paused, glancing around his office, eyes landing on his badge. “Look, I’ll be there in five. In the meantime, don’t let anyone touch anything – and that includes Uther. You and I both know how damn finicky and meddlesome he can get when it comes to shit like that.”

“Copy, sir.”

“Alright, bye.”

And then Arthur flipped the phone off, shoving it into his jacket pocket even as he struggled into his thick, grey pea-coat, grabbing his badge and chugging his lukewarm coffee in one go.

He had work to do.

***

Emrys.

An inspector’s nightmare. Robin hood’s wet dream. Arthur’s life for the past seven years.

The man was a mystery, enigma – nearly a myth, if it wasn’t for a thin folder in Arthur’s desk full of grainy photos, eyewitness accounts and scraps of books to prove otherwise. To say he was a thief would be to not do the man justice; Emrys was so much more. He was a revolutionary, a master of disguise, an obvious intellect, an artist, and an omen.

He was a proper adversary.

His crimes were always neat, tidy – completely calculated and nearly seamless. His victims were the ultra-wealthy, the corrupt, the residue that managed to float to the top of the food chain. He stole – never killing, scarcely ever even being detected, let alone harming another human. Usually, the objects he targeted would’ve as easily been attributed to magically disappearing, if it wasn’t for the bloody git’s MO: a page from a book and a little note left at the scene.

Emrys, in all sense of the term, seemed to fancy himself some sort of hero. Stealing from the corrupt, destructive, dangerous. What he did with the wealth once it was liberated, Arthur could only dream of. But the fact of the matter was that the thief was quite the opponent, and the (possibly unknowing) leader of a whole small movement of similar crimes. People inspired by the centuries-old idea of vigilante justice – a pipe dream, to be perfectly honest. Wispy, vague, never truly formed and usually horribly execute, causing the Yard quite a bit of extra trouble, and getting Arthur side-tracked on more than one occasion.

And really, _that_ was bloody well obnoxious.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he parked his car haphazardly on Uther’s pristine lawn, because he was petty like that.

Leon nodded at Arthur when the Inspector walked up to his childhood home –hauntingly off-kilter as he ducked under the police tape blocking the long, winding driveway.

Upon closer inspection, Arthur realized that Leon was more pallid than usual, his lips drawn down in a small from, brow furrowed as though in deep thought.

That was never good.

“Well, what’s different?” Arthur said as soon as he was close enough to the other officer.

Leon’s eyes shot up at Arthur, surprise at the other man’s intuition for only a moment before regaining himself. “Quite a bit, actually.”

Arthur raised a questioning brow, easily falling into to step with man beside him as they trekked towards the rather _massive_ mansion in the distance. “You sure it’s even Emrys?”

“Certain.” Leon said, not sounding pleased at all. “Thanks to your father’s… foresight, we have some measure of viable footage. No face, of course. It’s blurred as usual. But the height, weight, dress – everything matches up. On top of that, though, we have some witnesses – a maid, gardener and butler, to be exact – who all describe roughly the same person. Again, the facial features vary a bit, but honestly, this is some of the best identification stuff we’ve gotten since his fuck-up at MoMA in America, in ’09.”

Arthur nodded, his brow pinched in thought. “Well, besides for the slip-up on camera, what’s so unbelievable?”

At this, Leon hesitated. “Um.”

Arthur gave him a sharp look, and the officer squirmed in a very uncharacteristic manner under the pinning gaze.

“I think it best if you… see the footage, first.”

Arthur’s brows both raised in question, but he did not voice any complaint. Obviously, Emrys’ actions were quite troubling for Leon.

…And if something was troubling for Leon… well, Arthur didn’t particularly want to know what it was.

But of course he would, anyway, because it was his duty as an inspector of the law to bring such criminals as Emrys to justice. So the young Pendragon easily accepted the tablet shoved under his nose, tapping the paused screen into motion.

The footage itself was grainy, frizzing and jumpy as though interrupted by electrical or magnetic distortion. Arthur knew for a fact that Uther had, during the time when his son still acknowledged being such, employed only the finest security measures. Therefore, he could only wonder as to how in the world Emrys had managed to have such a detrimental effect on the footage quality.

Though, it appeared as though that were a question for another time, as there was now a figure moving into the frame. It was an encompassing view of the great foyer. A cloaked figure stumbled into the room from off camera, his movements more than a little pained. As he reached the doorway (which Arthur had to admit seemed like an idiotic exit strategy), though, was when it really got interesting.

Because just as a pair of hunched shoulders met the wood of the front door, Emrys just… Vanished.

Arthur blinked. Then, he rewound the clip. Again, the stumbling, the hunch, the pained leaning to let cloth meet door, then –

“Where did he go? How did he make the footage jump like that?” Arthur said, not taking his eyes from the tablet’s screen.

“Er, nowhere.”

Arthur looked up, frowning. “What do you mean nowhere?” At Leon’s helpless shrug, Arthur scowled. “You aren’t telling me that Emrys just fucking vanished, are you? Like some two-pence magician with a rabbit in his bloody hat?”

But before Leon could stutter out the embarrassment that was Emrys’ most recent form of the double finger salute to the Yard, Arthur was already engrossed in the new mystery, flipping through video feeds and tapping quickly on his phone.

After all, Emrys was taking them all for fools, furthermore coming onto what could only be assumed to be Arthur’s turf (after all, his and Uther’s falling out had been a rather private affair).

It was bloody insulting.

With a final sigh, the inspector handed the tablet back to his second in command, the gears in his brain running on overdrive.

After all, there had to be a solution to this – one that might just lead to the final capture of Emrys.

 

***

 

As it was, little to no headway was made on the most recent Emrys case. After a tense meeting with his father that left Arthur emotionally stripped and a summary of witness testimonies, it could only be concluded that the thief had encountered something nearly unheard of when breaching the Pendragon mansion: a failed attempt.

Arthur couldn’t help but wonder. True, he knew the more nasty aspects of who Uther employed and why – but Emrys had surely gone up against worse. Mobsters, assassins, ex-militia – much worse.

So what, then, had gone wrong with this particular heist? Nothing was unaccounted for in the vaults, no family heirlooms were missing, no possessions gone. So then what? What had Emrys been there for?

And on top of that, _why_? Uther Pendragon was a homophobic prick, sure – but he wasn’t publically disliked. He was too charismatic to be so open about such beliefs. True, Arthur knew Uther could be politically vicious sometimes, aggressive in his movements to pass laws and lobby changes – but half of parliament was that way. The fact was, was that this was wholly out of character.

And _that_ in turn led back to the reason Arthur was still at the office three hours after he got off, resisting the urge to rip his hair from the roots and scream.

Because what if this wasn’t Emrys? Just a really, really good fake? What if it _was_ Emrys and he was just finally – _finally_ – changing his MO?

Arthur groaned, shoving his head into his hands. Seven years of chasing this prick, and it would be for little to naught if he suddenly shifted his motives, methods, execution.

The inspector sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face and sitting back. The office was only partially lit, what with the night shift having clocked in. The computer screen in front of Arthur was darkened, having gone dormant from lack of use.

With another sigh, the young Pendragon groped around for his phone and wallet, standing up to throw on his coat. He wasn’t getting anywhere staring at a blank screen like this. And contrary to popular belief, despite the fact that Arthur was a Pendragon, he wasn’t stupid; he knew when a cause was hopeless. He’d only watched the grainy, jumping tape a million times – only closed up on the flash of a distorted face a thousand.

For tonight, Arthur just needed to go home, and let things be. And in the morning, he would work it all out.

 

***


	2. 'Stuff your eyes with wonder..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist another update, lmfao. Enjoy!

Arthur’s flat was in a better part of town, yet not too far from work. His flat was rather spacious but surprisingly homey, and situated near the top of his apartment complex. The most important aspect of it, though, was the extremely comfortable bed, because it was nearly early, early morning and all the inspector really wanted was to _sleep_.

Though, of course, all thoughts of sleep were whooshed from Arthur’s mind as soon as he closed the door.

"I hear you've been looking for me."

 

Arthur whipped around, zeroing in on the dark figure currently reclining on his garish loveseat next to the unlit fireplace.

 

It took a moment, but then sudden realization took over the inspector. His defenses flared.

"Emrys."

 

It was a single word, said with the cold certainty of a hunter. Even from across the darkened room, Arthur could see the figure stiffen at this.

 

"Mmm. You're not as stupid as the telly makes you out to be." There was a clink, a raised motion, and it took Arthur a moment to realize that the bloody bastard had helped himself to some of the inspector's finest gin.

 

Asshole.

 

"I'm afraid I can't say the same about you. You're drunk." Because that's what it was. There was a faint slur to the other man's words, a jerkiness to his shadowed movements.

 

Drunk, and in the head inspector of his case's flat.

 

Arthur wasn't sure if that was brave, or just plain stupid.

 

"Righto again, Mr. Pendragon. Bloody brilliant, aren't you?" And the shadow shifted, resettling as though to lean forward. "Oh wait, maybe not. After all, even drunk and in your flat, you wouldn't be able to catch me."

 

"Is that a challenge?" Arthur said, raising an eyebrow at the audacity of the other man.

 

"A promise." Was the only reply. Emrys reached a thin, delicate hand towards the gin on the table. In the streetlight filtering in, Arthur could see that half the bottle was already gone.

 

He was at a bit of a loss for words. After all, what was even _happening_? Emrys was in his bloody flat, drunk, and making petty small talk.

 

It finally occurred to Arthur to pull his gun.

 

"Oh bloody hell. Put that away before you hurt someone." Emrys all but groaned, his tone exasperated. "I don't need any more of that shit. I've dealt with enough guns pointed at my more delicate bits for today."

 

Arthur, of course, didn't put down the gun. "Why are you in my flat?"

 

"Mmm, probably the same reason you are." Was Emrys' absentminded response.

 

"Eh?" Arthur said, once again thrown off by the other man.

 

"What, are you deaf as well as stupid? You heard me. I'm here for the same reason you are; because it's been a long day and I'm tired." Emrys snipped, taking a large gulp straight from the bottle.

 

"This isn't your flat. You're breaking and entering."

 

"Bravo, Inspector. Really, I do wonder where the force gets chaps like you from!"

 

Arthur ground his teeth together. "You're _illegally_ in my flat."

 

"It's not illegal if I'm your guest." Emrys countered.

 

"And why in the hell would I have you here as a guest, Emrys?" Arthur said, finally lowering his gun.

 

"Because I know something that you, as a man of the law, would probably be very pleased to learn," Emrys said, giving an exasperated sigh. "And because it's been a long day, and if you really are the golden prince of Camelot that you make yourself out to be, then you'll be more than _generous_ with letting one of your _humble_ citizens take reprieve in your flat for a couple of hours."

 

Arthur gritted his teeth together, but nevertheless tucked his gun into the back of his pants. "Fine. Speak. If I don't like what I hear in the next five minutes, though, I'm dragging you back to HQ, humble citizen or not."

 

"Now we're getting somewhere. But first I want takeout."

 

"Takeout?" Arthur said, an incredulous look on his face. "I don't really think you're in a position to be making requests."

 

At this, Arthur could almost hear the smirk in the other man's voice. "Oh, but I assure you I am. After all, the information I've obtained is _very interesting._ "

 

And Emrys just knew Arthur too well. Because if Emrys wasn't pulling a bluff (and from Arhur's history with him, the inspector knew Emrys wasn't usually one to lie and deceive), then that meant he probably did have something 'interesting'. And that meant tolerating him.

 

Fuck.

 

The inspector sighed, feeling suddenly weary. "Fine. But you're paying."

 

"My, my inspector, quite the romantic."

 

"Shut up, Emrys." Arthur gritted out, moving to the kitchen to snag himself a beer. His only response from across the room was a throaty chuckle.

 

A few moments passed, and Arthur vaguely wondered if Emrys had passed out.

 

"And what would you like to eat, sire?" No such luck, then.

 

Arthur looked over and saw the dim light of a phone. The light cast shadows over the other man's face, and for the first time the inspector was actually able to get a glimpse of the man he's been hunting for over half a decade.

 

And it was quite the pleasant glimpse, if he were being fully honest. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, pallid skin and dark, ruffled hair.

 

So this was the great Emrys.

 

And Arthur had to blink, because he had three realizations at the exact same moment. First, Emrys was pretty fucking young. Second, the right side of the thief's face was sporting quite the set of bruises, along with a split lip. And thirdly, Arthur had just had the fleeting thought that Emrys was _hot_.

 

Gods help him.

 

"You look like shit."

 

Emrys didn't even look up from his phone. "I thought we already established that you were a charming man."

 

"What happened to you?" Arthur asked before he could help himself.

 

"Sadly enough, there's no dish at this Thai place by the name of that."

 

"Oh, just shut up, will you? You know what I mean."

 

Emrys gave a soft smile at this, finally raising deep blue eyes to gaze across the room at Arthur. The impact of their gaze - intense even through the man's intoxication - very nearly shoved all the air from Arthur's chest.

 

He couldn't bring himself to look away.

 

Then Emrys' lips twitched up into a smirk, and the moment was lost. "I went ahead and ordered some Panang Curry."

 

Arthur rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his beer. Of course the other man was being difficult. The inspector decided it couldn't be avoided, though, so instead walked across the room to seat himself across from the infamous thief.

 

Emrys hung up the phone after a moment, sliding it into his pant pocket, eyeing Arthur from across his glass of alcohol.

 

Arthur refused to break the contact first, schooling his face into one of the infamous Pendragon scowls.

 

After a moment, Emrys broke the eye contact, chuckling and taking a sip from his drink. "The papers don't really do you justice." He murmured, staring into the glass of dark liquid in his land.

 

Arthur quirked a brow.

 

"I always thought your eyes were grey," Emrys continued, turning his head to the side. "Come to find that I've been mistaken for nearly a decade."

 

"This is the first time I've seen your face." Arthur replied, steely and wondering what the thief was playing at. Showing his face? After all this time? Getting drunk in Arthur's flat? Did that mean Emrys was planning on making Arthur unable to convey his mug - or was it something more stupid, like an assurance in his abilities?

 

Arthur rubbed his face, trying to scrub off his confusion and exhaustion. It was too bloody late for this type of shit.

 

"Do you like what you see, inspector?" Emrys smirked, glancing coyly at the man across from him.

 

"Are you trying to chat me up?" Arthur said incredulously.

 

Emrys shrugged, taking a gulp of amber liquor. "Doesn't hurt, does it?"

 

Arthur scoffed. "You really are drunk."

 

"Mmm, and you're not nearly enough."

 

"Like hell I'm going to get drunk with a thief in my flat." Arthur retorted even as he took another sip of his beer.

 

A look close to hurt flashed across Emrys' face - there and gone in a second. Arthur vaguely wondered if he'd imagined it.

 

But then the man spoke, and there was a twinge to his voice that made Arthur suspect that he actually had been. "I wouldn't rob your place, mate."

 

Arthur frowned.

 

Emrys swallowed, squinting at the inspector across from him. "You really are a dense one, aren't you? You should know my MO by now."

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, a damned book recommendation. We get it, you're literate."

 

Emrys snorted. "Scotland Yard's best," he muttered into his glass, then louder said: "You're a bloody fool. Corruption. I only rob people who deserve it, inspector. Mob ties, extortion, embezzlement, drug trafficking." Emrys got a disgusted look on his face, taking another large gulp of his drink. "I would never lower myself to robbing a respectable citizen."

 

“I know your MO,” Arthur snorted. “But you didn’t crawl out of the crib able to rob mobsters blind. You had to start somewhere, Emrys, and don’t think me so stupid as to assume it was righteous.”

 

Emrys opened his mouth to speak, maybe defend himself, but then the doorbell rang, and the moment was lost.

 

Instead, the thief pursed his lips."Gunna get that?"

 

Arthur snorted, scoffing even as he stood up. "You're the one who wanted takeout."

 

"Yes, but I'm also the one who paid, and this is your flat." Emrys said, watching as Arthur left the room.

 

Dinner with his arch-nemesis was, surprisingly enough, not nearly as awkward as Arthur suspected it should be.

 

Maybe it was because he was so hungry. And tired. Of course, that was the cause.

 

After most of the food was consumed, Arthur decided it was time for him to get some answers. He settled back in his chair, looking across the table expectantly.

 

"Alright, Emrys. What is this grand thing you have to tell me."

 

The thief looked up, a bit caught off guard. A bit drunk, too.

 

"Why do you keep calling me that?" He finally said, his eyes piercing.

 

Arthur frowned, shuffling a bit, his seat suddenly less comfortable than before. "Pardon?"

 

"Why do you keep calling me Emrys?"

 

Arthur's frown deepened at that. "It's your name, isn't it?"

 

The man in question snorted, choking a bit on his drink. "I really am a master of evasion, aren't I?" He said, chuckling at Arthur’s offended frown.

 

"Well I wouldn't go as far as that -"

 

"Seven years and you still don't know my name!" Emrys barked a laugh at this. " _That_ , or you're a damn shitty inspector."

 

"I'm the best the Yard has." Arthur responded automatically.

 

"Well I don't really think that's anything to brag about, now is it?"

 

The inspector scowled.

 

"Oh, lighten up. It's Merlin." The thief said, a genuine grin gracing his face. And God, did it do things to Arthur.

 

But then the inspector's brain caught up to the conversation and his fond look of endearment suddenly turned sour. " _Mer_ lin?" He said, incredulous.

 

Merlin in question frowned. "Yes, _Merlin_."

 

" _God_ , no wonder you go by an alias."

 

"I beg your pardon!" Merlin said, scandalized.

 

Arthur snorted. "Do I get a last name, too? Or are you not drunk enough?"

 

Merlin sniffed, looking at the half empty bottle. "Mmm. I don't believe so, good sir. Wouldn't want you badgering my mum, now would I?"

 

Arthur perked at this. "Your mum?"

 

"Yes, my mum. Wonderful woman. I scarcely remember her, but I've been assured she was a lovely woman." Merlin took another sip of his drink. "I really do like the way her gravestone is at the moment, though, and would rather not appreciate you lot trampling all over her cemetery. Bad luck and all, you know."

 

Arthur opened his mouth at this revelation, but didn't manage to get anything out. After all, he was on his third beer and needed a moment. "I - so you're -"

 

"An orphan." Merlin confirmed, sighing. "Not nearly as glamorous a childhood as you, Mr. Pendragon."

 

The thief paused, squinting at Arthur. "Though I suppose we both have a deep, underlying connection over our dead mums."

 

"Merlin..." Arthur said, warningly.

 

"What, you really expect me to not read up on you? You know MI 5 has a whole file just on your pretty little bottom." The thief smirked, evidently enjoying throwing Arthur through loop after loop.

 

Arthur flustered at having his bum called pretty, then stopped mid-fluster at the rest of the sentence sunk it."Wait – I – you broke into MI 5?!"

 

"Mmm right after the Paris scandal."

 

Arthur gaped. " _Damn_ you! Boss nearly had my ass for that! Threatened to make me pay the damages to the Louvre, he did!"

 

"You were the one who wrecked a golf cart into the fountain..." Merlin muttered, scowling.

 

"Only because you took a turn on your motorcycle at the last minute! I didn't have time to stop." Arthur grumbled in retort.

 

Both men glared at each other - then promptly broke out laughing.

 

"Gods, that was a good one." Merlin said between chuckles.

 

Arthur couldn't help but nod, clutching his stomach. "I still can’t believe you were driving a motorcycle with a damned hosiery over your head! That was almost as good as Beijing."

 

"Oi! You bugger! I paid for that helicopter with my own money, I did!"

 

"Yeah, your stolen money. You could afford another." Arthur chuckled.

 

"I liked that one." Merlin muttered. "Named her Clarisse…"

 

"Oh my god." The inspector was sent into a whole new fit of giggles, amazed. "I cannot believe the man I've been hunting for nearly a decade is such a _girl_!"

 

"Hey, watch it. I saw your movie collection."

 

"So you _did_ go through my stuff!"

 

"I was bored. Though maybe I'd pop something into the telly." Merlin defended, looking less like an offended adult and more like a grumpy puppy.

 

" _Bridesmaids_ is a good movie!" Arthur defended. "Kristen Wiig is a brilliant actress."

 

"My god, inspector," Merlin scoffed. "You're a bloody poof, aren't you?"

 

Arthur pursed his lips. "And if I am?"

 

Merlin snorted, his giggling subsiding. "Well it takes one to know one, I suppose."

 

And Arthur really couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat at that. Back to flirting - probably unconsciously, considering how drunk Merlin was. Even so, Arthur had to remind his heart that such things as fluttering and skipping and developing a little bit of an ache was wholly unprofessional and unwanted in this situation.

 

Not that his heart really listened, though.

 

Arthur sighed, becoming serious again. "Look, Merlin. Why are you here? I doubt it's for the company."

 

The thief looked at him, doing that damned thing with his eyes again. "Maybe I am."

 

Arthur looked away. "I don't think that would be advised."

 

It was Merlin's turn to look away, sighing. "I suppose not."

 

After a moment:

 

"I have something for you. Call it light reading." The thief got up from the kitchen table, having to steady himself on the back of his chair before lurching over to where he'd left his suit coat, tie and messenger bag. With long, uncoordinated fingers, Merlin pried open the bag, fumbling through some papers before pulling out a stack of files.

 

They hit the table top with an unceremonious 'fwop'.

 

"Here. I figure a white knight of the people like yourself would enjoy this."

 

Arthur swallowed, sobering as he saw the large 'F9+ CLEARANCE' printed on the front of the top folder.

 

"What does that mean?" Arthur asked, looking across the table at the suddenly silent thief. "Who did you steal this from?"

 

Merlin shrugged, instead using wobbly hands to pour himself another glass.

 

Arthur's lips thinned. He would get answers later. As it was... The inspector couldn't help but be curious. He reached out, intent on picking up the stack of papers.

 

But he paused. "How can I trust these to be authentic?"

 

Merlin scoffed. "Inspector, I'm offended. You know for a fact that I have a superb eye for a fake."

 

"Documents are different than diamonds," Arthur said darkly, remembering the incident with a set of false South African diamonds and a rather embarrassing explanation to his superiors. "Besides, how do I know you're not setting me up?"

 

Merlin raised a brow. Slowly, he got up and walked around the table until he was right in front of Arthur, leaning into his space, deep blue eyes blown wide as he stared at the other man. The inspector couldn't deny it - he was gorgeous, even with the stark, ugly bruises going along the side of his face.

 

"Do you trust me, Pendragon?" The thief asked, leaning over Arthur, hands caging him in as he gripped the arms of the chair.

 

And Arthur couldn't bring himself to pull away from the man looming over him, couldn't rip his eyes away from the face before him – hell, he could scarcely breath.

 

"I don't believe I do, Emrys." He breathed out, watching as the man in front of him’s eyes trailed his lips.

 

"Well, I do believe I need to change that, love." And then Merlin smirked, leaning into the last distance between the pair, pressing his lips onto Arthur's.

 


	3. East of Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd, sorry!

 

 

Arthur woke up to a headache. The inspector groaned a bit, not particularly wanting to open his eyes. Instead, he cuddled further into the warmth burrowed in his side. Then Arthur abruptly stiffened, wrenching his eyes open as he realized there was _warmth_ burrowed in his _side_ and _oh hell_ he wasn't alone in bed. 

 

The inspector looked down, feeling quite faint as he recognized the shock of black hair resting on his chest. The previous night flooded back to Arthur, much to his dismay and resentment.

 

The inspector took a moment, steeling his nerves, before he prodded the figure happily drooling on his chest.

 

"Merlin." He said in his most unamused voice possible. What he got for his trouble was a groan as the man cuddled his face further into Arthur’s chest.

  
Arthur refused to think it was cute. _Refused_. Instead, the inspector acted in the only way he knew how – by schooling his face into a steely mask and shoving Merlin off his chest. Said man in question yelped as he was unceremoniously dumped, naked, on the floor.

 

Arthur refused to let it bother him. Last night was a mistake; Merlin – _Emrys_ – was a thief and a con. Arthur had been drunk, as was Merlin and –

 

And it was a _mistake_.

 

The inspector got up, ignoring the cold air as he walked across the room to grab his boxers, throwing on a pair of pants while he was at it.

 

“A-Arthur?” Merlin asked from the other side of the room, shielding his eyes and wincing as the inspector pulled back the curtain to reveal sharp sunlight. Seeing the look on Arthur’s face, Merlin winced again for an entirely different recent, suddenly becoming self conscious of his nudity.

 

“Last night was a mistake.” Arthur deadpanned, picking up Merlin’s clothes and unceremoniously tossing them in his face. The inspector internally flinched at the naked hurt that flashed across the thief’s expression.

 

“I suggest you get out. Like I said, last night was a mistake, and you’re still wanted by the law.” Merlin nodded, looking a bit green. Arthur ignored the urge to hug and comfort that welled up inside him, covering it with a glare. Merlin caught the look, flinching and looking away as he quickly began to scramble into his clothing.

 

“I’m giving you an hour head start before I report the break-in. I suggest you get moving, _Emrys_.” Arthur bit out, his voice icy and cutting.

 

Merlin only nodded, shoving his shoes on without tying them. The inspector watched as the thief practically ran out the door, only pausing to grab his bag and shoot Arthur one last fleeting look.

 

And then Emrys was gone, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts.

 

 

***

 

 

_Stupid stupid stupid…_

 

Merlin wiped his face, swallowing back the angry tears that threatened to overflow. Instead, the warlock shoved his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace as he made his way back to his flat.

 

He had been a fool to go there, a fool to think that Arthur would listen to him, a fool to let his childish crush get the best of him –

 

Merlin should’ve known better. Arthur was an officer of the law, and on his case, to boot. He was a Pendragon, and gods, weren’t they all just the same?

 

He was beginning to doubt if Arthur was even going to believe the files he’d gotten. It had taken an arm and a leg to get those files on top of nearly ten _years_ of research and now –

 

Now Arthur Pendragon just waltzed into Merlin’s life and made a god damn mess of things.

 

Merlin bit his tongue as his ankle collided with a stair accidentally, his mind drawn from his reveries. The thief huffed out a sigh, rubbing at his sore ankle as he stopped for a moment to survey the morning traffic.

 

Gaius had patched him up, going as far as to use some of his own, milder magic to heal the broken bones and larger abrasions on Merlin’s body. It was unheard of for the old man; usually he only would wrap and stitch and bind the thief’s wounds, fearful of the consequences of his own magic. But this time Gaius had heard Merlin’s words – that he’d finally, finally found the root of the cause, that he had information on Pendragon, that he needed to be able to walk, to contact the authorities –

 

So Gaius had pulled out his old tomes, mixed and chanted and healed Merlin more than the warlock himself ever could’ve. Taken a risk, put his life and livelihood on the line, all for what?

 

He’d failed.

 

With a sigh, the warlock began walking again, easing his body back into motion because everything was sore. Ten years, and the only evidence Merlin had was now in the hands of the son of the man who’d started it all.

 

The man who had hunted him like an animal for years.

 

And Merlin had just fucking handed him the only copy of Uther’s files.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

 

The warlock turned the key in his flat’s lock, closing the door behind him and then slouching back against it. The previous night was coming back in bits and pieces, chunks of memory that right now…

 

Right now, Merlin could really do without. Because every time a particularly intense moment surfaced in the thief’s mind – Arthur’s body, the sensation of kissing his lips, the naked look of want and need – the look on the inspector’s face that morning would appear, too. The look of disgust, regret, stony intensity.

 

And gods, that was just a kick to the ribs. He’d been drunk, he’d been stupid, he’d let old, dormant, childish emotions take over and this is where it got him.

 

Stupid.

 

With one last sigh, Merlin shook away the self-depreciation and pushed off the door, locking it with a swift flash of gold.

 

If growing up in Ealdor Orphanage had taught Merlin anything, it was that regret got you nowhere. To survive in the harsh reality of this world, you couldn’t afford to _regret_.

 

No. So Merlin had fucked up. He’d put all his eggs in one basket, and had dropped it.

 

But that didn’t mean the warlock was out of options. He could start from scratch – after all, he now knew that Uther Pendragon was the man behind all the disappearances, the politician who was pulling the strings.

 

(And it made sense; Uther was charismatic and cruel. He ruled Parliament, no matter that England no longer had royalty. He had the money and the means and even a company – Camelot Industries – with which to orchestrate all this.)

 

Sure, it would be harder to get any dirt on the man now that he knew Merlin was on to him. Uther was already a paranoid millionaire – but now…

 

The thief groaned, thinking about how hard it had been for him to get that information. How it had been less than a day, and yet he was already back to square one. He shoved his head into his hands, resting his elbow on the edge of his kitchen counter. It was hopeless.

 

Or –

 

Merlin paused, straightening up.

 

Or he could –

 

_No_. The warlock had had that idea years ago, and repeatedly sworn he would never follow through with it. He had too many responsibilities, come too far –

 

He didn’t even know if it would work. And for what? The risk of death, at best?

 

No. Merlin could not do that to himself. He couldn’t do it to the children, either.

 

…But Merlin was beginning to think that he might not have a say in this decision.

 

 

***

 

 

“I came as soon as I heard…” Leon said, trailing off as he saw the stony look on Arthur’s face. It hadn’t left since this morning, and Arthur was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

 

“You didn’t have to.” Arthur said curtly, not particularly wanting to talk to Leon about it, let alone with all the officers currently swarming around his flat. They wouldn’t find anything, of course; Arthur had gone through and erased all evidence of the pair’s night together.

 

Still.

 

“Mate,” Leon said empathetically, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t let this shake you up. This is just his way of flipping you the bird. For some reason recently he’s just been dead set on riling you up.”

 

Arthur only nodded, appeasing Leon more than anything else. After all, he knew, he bloody well _knew_ that that wasn’t the case. Merlin had been here, but under the motivation of something wholly different.

 

Too bad the inspector still couldn’t figure out exactly what that was.

 

So instead, Arthur sighed, turning around and nodding at his friend. “I suppose you're right. It’s just frustrating, is all.”

 

Leon nodded, making a noise of empathy. And really, Arthur wasn’t even lying.

 

Because dammit if he wasn’t caught up on _Merlin_.

 

 

***

 

 

Merlin was just leaving his flat, having slept away a good four hours in an attempt to self-medicate, when his phone beeped.

 

The thief cursed, stopping as he walked and pulling himself from the midday flow of hustle and bustle in order to check the device. He balanced his half smoked cigarette in his mouth, nibbling absentmindedly at the butt while swiping across the screen.

 

‘ **Emrys Robs Head Inspector’s Home!’**

 

Ah. He’d been expecting nothing less than Arthur doing just as he’d threatened – calling in the robbery. But the speed with which the papers had gotten a hold of it…

 

Merlin vaguely wondered, as he shoved the phone back into his threadbare jacket’s pocket and once again resumed walking, if Arthur had told the rest of his team Emrys’ real name. It hadn’t gotten to the news, yet –

 

But police had a way of keeping certain things from the public, even if they were supposed to be transparent.

 

Merlin frowned, pulling the phone back out of his pocket. He had it set to alert him whenever certain key words popped up… Maybe he should add ‘Merlin’ to the list. Nodding to himself, the warlock took another drag from his cigarette, flicked it, then continued tapping away.

 

It was only when he’d reached a plain, squat building on the edge of the industrial district that Merlin actually looked up from his phone.

 

The place looked old and worn – like bones bleached in the sun, or eyes yellowed by age. It was crumbling around the edges, and the lawn was little more than tufts of grass and weeds.

 

The whole building was surrounded by an ancient wrought-iron fence that Merlin remembered all too well having been forced to paint black ages ago, after coming back with Will with a bloody nose a split lip – courtesy of a street fight.

 

Merlin gave a self depreciating smile at the memory, shaking his head and opening the gate. He’d been young and stupid – him and Will both had. Skipping classes, sneaking out, hanging back in the industrial district –

 

Stupid, and they’d paid for it. Or, well, Will had.

 

Just then, the thief was pulled from his reveries and regrets but a shrill scream.

 

“Merlin!”

 

The warlock looked up, his face breaking out into a brilliant grin as he saw the small bodies rushing towards him, full-tilt.

 

“Oi! Owain, Percy, get back here - ! No, Mordred, c’mon now, I said stay not go running out onto the lawn like a – Oh! Merlin!”

 

Merlin chuckled, laughing as he was swarmed and nearly sent on his bottom by children. Across the way, standing in the doorway was Gwen.

 

 

***

 

“You wouldn’t believe the trouble they’ve been getting into since last time you were here!” Gwen said, setting down a chipped cup and saucer in front of the warlock after finally shooing the orphans away. Merlin beamed over the rim of his glass at the younger woman, gently rocking the baby – Elyse – who was perched on his knee. She was the newest addition to the estate.

 

“I doubt it was too much for you, let alone Lance.” Merlin replied cheerily.

 

Gwen chuckled, running a hand through her hair before sitting down across from the thief. “ I suppose it isn't. I’m just still getting adjusted to Gaius finally retiring.”

 

Merlin made a humming noise of agreement. Though, Gaius really did deserve his retirement. He’d gone through a lot with the kids. A lot of death. A lot of bad endings.

 

He shrugged the bleak thoughts from his mind, though. Instead:

 

“How has Mordred been acting?” The child was around ten, and intelligent. He was silent, though, coming from the combination of a prostitute and small time drug-runner. It hadn’t ended well for either of them, and Mordred was almost better off here.

 

Almost.

 

As it was, Merlin had kept a special eye on the child ever since he’d begun moving his toys with his mind. Something that very much wasn’t due to the combination of a prostitute and drug-runner, but rather magic.

 

“He’s been good. Quite. Not staying out late like the others.” Gwen said, obviously concerned.

 

Merlin made a noise of sympathy. The last thing Mordred needed was to be out and about, possibly doing magic. Even though it was supposed to be fake, unreal… magic was actually quite prevalent, and quite a problem.

 

Because as soon as it was discovered, you disappeared.

 

Especially at an orphanage, it wasn’t much of a fuss to have a child or two run away, or get taken. The police were called, the caretakers questioned – but end of the day, nothing really came of it.

 

Nobody was missed.

 

But – there were links. Magic users, practicers – they disappeared. Gone, poof, unseen and unheard. It had been happening for longer than Merlin could remember, and it had been happening to people he knew.

 

The warlock was immobilized for a moment, the fear of a memory from a time long past – of Freya, eyes blown wide and terrified, begging him to –

 

“Merlin?” The warlock’s head shot up, pulled back to reality by Gwen’s concerned voice. “Everything alright over there?”

 

“Yeah.., yeah.” Merlin muttered, trying to look attentive. “You were saying?”

 

“Oh, I was just going on about Morgause… I’m a bit worried,” Gwen said, biting her lower lip. “She didn’t come back last night. Had been acting funny, too.”

 

Gwen continued talking, but Merlin didn’t hear her. Because suddenly he felt a cold sort of dread trickle into his body.

 

After all, Mordred had confided in him that Morgause had magic.

 

Abruptly, the warlock stood up, handing the baby to a confused Gwen. “Sorry, Gwen. But something has come up and I – I can’t stay.”

 

Gwen nodded, taking the child in her arms.

 

Merlin made his goodbyes with the other children quick and heartfelt – after all this might be the last time he ever sees them – and then left.

 

Because the warlock was right – he’d never had a choice. Not since Freya had disappeared in a gust of fear and havoc.

 

He’d never had a choice.

 

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I know that was mean of Arthur but... let's be honest, he's emotionally constipated and unable to cope with intimacy. :/ Well, whatever it is, I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for the support!


	4. 'Only fools want to be great...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Benji for xyr input! (still not properly beta'd though, so sorry about that!)

 

Arthur hadn’t looked at the files. Not that he hadn’t considered it – no, quite to the contrary. After the swarm of officers and inspectors and investigators had left the apartment the Pendragon had done little else save stare at the folder currently burning a hole on an unassuming shelf. He’d gone as far as pulling it down from the shelf.

 

But now Arthur was just sitting at the table like a fool, staring at the manila folder.

 

The room was silent, save for the tap of the inspector’s fingers on the tabletop.

 

Finally, with a sudden burst of energy, the inspector grabbed the folder, ripping the cover open. …And then paused, brow creasing with confusion. A list of names and locations followed by a hand-written time and date. Beside some, there was a secondary, red date.

 

The inspector’s frown deepened as he flipped through probably five pages of tiny print and similar dates and times. Lists – Emrys had given him lists?

 

But then he was coming to a different page. It had a picture – a young kid, a blacked out description along with measurements – weight, height, age.

 

Across the top, in a smeared red ink, the word ‘EXPIRED’ read in large, official letters.

 

Arthur was beginning to get a very stark, sinking feeling. On the back of that page there was another picture, blacked out description, big red stamp. And then another, and another, and another – Almost all children, almost all ‘expired’.

 

Then he was at the end of the file, and there was a small, half-slip of paper. Arthur reached out a shaky hand, drawing the typed memo out of the folder.

 

_Subject has reached full potential. Termination has been approved for date 03/17/19XX._

_Signed,_

_Uther Pendragon_

 

Arthur felt his mouth go dry. He reread the slip, then twice more, thrice more, his eyes ingraining the small, weathered piece of paper into his brain. It couldn’t possibly be real though –

 

The file, the description, the ‘expired’ and slip of paper – it couldn’t possibly be real - ! Merlin, Emrys, he had to have a reason for this, to throw Arthur off his trail, to create some form of catastrophe, these couldn’t possibly be real –

 

Uther was an ass, not a _murderer_. Furthermore, Camelot Industry (because yes, he could make out a watermark on some of the papers of the company’s dragon logo) was a _weapons_ company. What would they want with children?

 

Nothing. That’s what.

 

The inspector looked at the memo once more, gritting his teeth as his eyes traced the lines of script.

 

In one quick motion, he balled the paper up, tossing it across the room. Unsatisfied, Arthur grabbed the rest of the file and walked over to his trash bin, throwing them in.

 

Emrys had made a fool of him. He’d played Arthur, and for some reason believed that he could hold weight over the inspector – sway him to go against his own father. Falling out or no, the thief was an idiot to think Arthur would be so quick to fall for his trap.

 

Angry, the flashes of the previous night no help to calm to indignation and rage, Arthur shoved on a pair of shoes and grabbed his coat.

 

He needed time, and space, and exercise. And then, _then_ he needed to find Emrys.

 

 

***

 

Gaius tried to talk him out of it.

 

“Merlin, you cannot be serious about this.” The retired physician said, raising an incredulous eye at the thief. “You don’t know what could happen to you! You don’t even know if there _is_ a facility –“

 

“They have one, Gaius, I know it. Where else would they be keeping the children? The users? At the main Camelot branch?”

 

The warlock shook his head, biting his lip in indecision. “I cannot leave them to god-knows-what just because I was too scared for my own safety.”

 

“But don’t you have an officer on the inside? Didn’t you give him the information?” Gaius asked, pleading.

 

Merlin didn’t look at the man who had been such a strong influence in his life for so long. His cheeks flushed a bit with embarrassment. “It didn’t work out.” He mumbled.

 

Gaius paused. Then, realization overcame him. “Merlin…” It was a warning.

 

“Merlin, you didn’t… who was this officer you were to meet with?” The retired physician said with growing worry.

 

“Er… Um…” Merlin scratched the back of his head, looking away as he mumbled, “Arthur Pendragon.”

 

“Merlin! How could you be so stupid!” The old man bemoaned, looking around his small flat as though it were hiding the answer to their salvation. “I cannot believe you – Uther’s own child, you handed those files to! And the inspector on your case, on top of that!”

 

Merlin winced, because he knew. He knew he had been stupid – but it had seemed like his only option at the time. And Arthur – he’d always shown such a brilliant moral compass…

 

But then Merlin had gone and gotten pissed and mucked the whole thing to hell. So now, now he had to pay for his mistake. Because at the end of the day, what was right came first, above all else. The warlock knew this, and so did Gaius – ever since the day Merlin realized exactly how hefty a price his powers came with, it had been this way.

 

And so finally Gaius nodded, opening his arms wordlessly for the thief to fold himself into.

 

“I will miss you, m’boy.” He said, giving Merlin a pat on the back.

 

Merlin sniffed, drawing out of the embrace. “You sure ‘bout that, Gaius?”

The old man chuckled, then sighed. “I believe I am. You and Will, you two were the closest things to sons I’d ever had…” He trailed off, not daring to go further.

 

Merlin silently agreed, nodding to himself and glancing around the old man’s flat one last time.

 

 Then, without another word, the warlock left.

 

 

***

 

It was a sunless afternoon. The air was heavy and choking with the threat of rain, while rush hour traffic was just beginning to clog the street-ways. The Thames rolled by in the distance, sluggish and grey.

 

Merlin took a deep breath.

 

Then, the warlock turned, setting his eyes on the Palace of Westminster.

 

For once, he did not cast a scrambling spell on his face. He wanted to be caught on camera, identified. It didn’t matter at the moment, though, because he was merely making his way through the crowds – another tourist, another face.

 

That would all change soon enough, though.

 

It was as he was passing the fountain, approaching the first door, that the first guard tried to stop him.

 

“Sorry sir, but visitors must use the other entrance –“ The man didn’t have time to finish the sentence, though, because the next moment he was being flung through the air.

 

Merlin’s expression was grim as he continued his brisk walk, deflecting another pair of guards with nothing more than a wave of the hand (for show, more than anything else). He ascended the stairs to the entrance with no resistance, approaching the Sovereign’s Entrance. The door was beautiful, gilded and probably ancient. He paused in his stride for a moment to appreciate the beauty – as well as for the benefit of the half dozen people probably watching from the sidewalk.

 

Then, the warlock ripped the grandiose door from its hinges.

 

He wasn’t certain, but as it crashed, landing on a car in the parking lot, Merlin could’ve sworn he’d heard a scream.

 

So evidently he _did_ have an audience. Good.

 

The thief was already inside and halfway to his destination by the time any alarms sounded.

Soon enough, footsteps, along with shouting, could be heard from around the corner of the hallway. Merlin ignored them – throwing the group of guards through a rather expensive looking stained glass window as they came around the corner. The warlock internally winced – but it couldn’t be helped.

 

The first gun was fired when Merlin blasted through the Robing Room’s doors. He raised a hand, stopping the rubber bullets a foot behind his stilled back. Turning around, eyes glowing golden, the warlock only paused for a moment before sending the bullets back at the guards that had fired them. They dropped like stones, littering the entryway.

 

Again, Merlin felt a pang of regret. After all, they were just doing their job. But it couldn’t be helped, he supposed. They’d have some bruises, a cracked bone at worse – necessary, unfortunately, for the sake of his plan.

 

So, with his resolved renewed, Merlin turned again, flicking the velvet ropes from his path with a sharp motion.   


And then Merlin ascended the stairs to the Queen’s throne – and in one smooth motion sat down. Lazily, he reclined. And gods, that must’ve been a sight to the next round of wide-eyed guards that ran through the broken doorway. Merlin, sitting lazily on the throne, immaculate in his suit, exuding power, eyes glowing golden.

 

The warlock allowed a nervous chuckle to escape as he stopped yet another volley of rubber bullets. This time – for show, of course – he snapped his fingers.

 

The half dozen guards fell to the ground, motionless.

 

Merlin couldn’t deny that using his power so flippantly gave him a heady feeling. He couldn’t deny that the exhilaration that came with extending such a misused muscle in such a public display was almost pleasant. Almost.

 

But he had things to do, and couldn’t contemplate on the adrenaline rush he was floating on. Instead, the warlock waved a hand, conjuring fire on one of the priceless paintings on the wall. It burned, quick, fast, brilliantly. It was still glowing, the lines outlining letters and words, by the time Special Forces showed up.

 

And as Merlin gave a broad grin, giving a mock bow before putting his hands in the air, he was able to catch a glimpse of the smoldering painting he had destroyed.

 

In stark, glowing embers it read:

 

‘I AM EMRYS.’

 

 

***

  
  
Arthur had taken the day off – courtesy of his boss, Kiligan, who got one look at the inspector before claiming he had accumulated one too many sick days.

And Arthur, well he couldn’t even bring himself to complain. To be perfectly honest, he probably did need a sick day. Or thirty. As it was, one didn’t become the Yard’s leading Inspector overnight.

 

It had been after his final row with Uther, when Arthur had taken a duffle bag of possessions and then never looked back, that the then-college student had begun throwing himself whole-heartedly into his work. Five years later and he was a leading officer, then not even a year after that and he was Inspector Pendragon, assigned to the newly surfaced string of Emrys cases.

 

And then the rest was history. Arthur pursued Emrys just as he had pursued any other target throughout his lifetime – with the conviction and whole-heartedness of a Pendragon. Granted, this dedication had come with a price – too many late nights to keep a constant partner, and too much travel to keep any real friends beyond the force.

 

But for Arthur, it had been a way of coping, throwing himself into every action. And even now, it was still a way of coping – even as he relaxed, it was whole-hearted and wholly engrossing.

 

 So, with all the conviction of a Pendragon, the inspector resolutely settled down in his bed with a stack of DVDs and junk food pillaged from the nearby gas station.

 

And so Arthur was still in this near-catatonic state, plowing his way through yet another bag of crisps, when he got the call.

 

The inspector almost didn’t pick up. Almost. He wasn’t so far gone in his mindless endeavors to neglect his work, though; and so when the caller ID flashed ‘Leon’, the inspector picked up.

 

“Pendragon.” He said, sounding very much professional, and not like he had been lazing around all day in boxer briefs.

 

“Arthur – oh my god, you’ve got to turn on the telly!” The other officer exclaimed, his voice going tinny through the line. “Turn on the news channel – just do it!”

 

“What in the - ?” Arthur’s brow furrowed, and he began to flip towards a news channel even as the question left his lips.

 

But he never finished it, because suddenly Leon sounded very far away – as though heard through cottony ears – and Arthur’s mouth was hanging open, unnoticed, the phone going limp in his hand –

 

Because there, on the local news channel, was none other than Merlin, lounging luxuriously on the Queen’s Throne at Westminster as though it was his god given right. His eyes bore into the television screen, as though he were staring straight at Arthur rather than the camera undoubtedly snuck into the palace.

 

 “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, feedback is always appreciated. Until next time, cheers!


	5. 'Anything worth dying for...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yeah. I'm going to drop this here and go work on my neglected calc homework now lmfao.

 

 

“Where is he?” Arthur said as soon as he saw Leon. “Where did they take Emrys?” The inspector looked around the Yard office space, as though it would reveal the location of Merlin. Leon, who had been standing to the side talking to a PR rep, immediately moved to block the Pendragon’s path.

 

“Whoa, there, Arthur. He’s not going anywhere, Kiligan had them put him in interrogation –“

 

“Without me?” Arthur blinked a moment, thrown through a loop. Emrys was his case. Emrys was his catch. Hell, Emrys was his life for the last _seven_ _years_ – and Kiligan bloody well _knew_ that! He damn well _knew_ that, and yet he was letting someone else interrogate him – “Leon,” Arthur said, a thought suddenly bringing him to a halt in the middle of the corridor. “Leon, who is in there with him?”

 

Leon seemed to pale at this, but nevertheless retained eye contact. “Kiligan wouldn’t say. People in suits – hush-hush and all that, saying they're from MI-whatever, and that they had rights to take over the interrogation. Won’t even let one of those civil lawyers in.”

 

Arthur blinked for a minute – everything processing, then promptly got angry. “Well that’s fucking unbelievable – I don’t care what type of fucking credentials someone has, Emrys is due just as much legal representation as –“

 

“No,” Leon said, leaning into Arthur and lowering his voice, pulling the other man into a dip in the side of the hallway. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t. Look Arthur, I get this is your case and that you want to go bursting in there, guns-blazing – but don’t. For the sake of _god_ … You weren’t there – you didn’t see what that fucker could do – he was just throwing shit around with his _eyes_ , fucking X-Men shit right there! And these people who came, they did something to him – gave him an injection and put some really weird bracelets on the bloke –“ Leon paused, trying to regain his normal calm and placid façade. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice lower, the hint of hysteria receding. “Let’s just say my ears are still ringing from the screaming.”

 

Arthur felt as though an icy vice had just clamped down on his chest. “So they’re torturing him?”

 

Leon took a deep breath, looking around at the evening rush. “I’m not sure.” He finally said, truthfully.

 

Arthur sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling much more out of sorts than he would ever let on. The inspector nodded after a moment, schooling his emotions. Then he turned to his friend. “Look, Leon. We live in the modern era. Torture is not condoned by the law, and quite frankly I could give a damn about who is connected to what institution. Right now, by _law_ , this is _my_ case and that is _my_ suspect being unduly harassed by god knows who.

 

“Now if you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the direction of Kiligan?” Arthur finished, straightening his shoulders and adjusting his cufflinks.

 

Leon only nodded, saying quietly, “Right this way. I’ll walk with you there.”

 

 

***

 

The first thing Merlin registered was that he was sitting, upright, in a rather uncomfortable chair.

 

The second thing Merlin registered was an unbelievably overwhelming wave of pain. It crashed through his body, making the warlock lightheaded and nauseous. It felt as though every fiber of his being had been stripped raw while simultaneously liquefied – drawn from his body and leaving him empty.

 

Experimentally, the warlock tried taking a breath. It hurt, god did it hurt – but then he took another, and another, and curled into himself a bit more (still not opening his eyes, though – he doubted he’d be able to stay calm if he did) and suddenly everything was much more manageable.

 

_‘Just breathe through the pain, take it moment by moment.’ Gaius said, putting a cold, soothing hand on the young warlock’s head. ‘You’ve taken quite the blow today. What have I told you and Will about hanging out with Kane and his group?’ The old man had chided, looking more concerned than angry._

_Merlin remembered it – yes, this was a memory, he was certain of it, because this pain was much more pervasive than a couple stab wounds in the side. It had hurt, and Will – god, Will, the fool – had nearly taken on a whole street gang on his own._

And it was the damnedest sensation – because Merlin was almost certain he could hear someone – a scuffle, yelling – but he was in too deep already, too far within a past he had tried to bury to manage to do anything besides for watch the memories fly by.

_And then he was back in Gaius’ flat. A much different, darken hue shaded the walls – the curtains were drawn, while the shadows exuding from behind stacks of books, beakers and other knick-knacks grew and darkened._

_Gaius’ hand was again cold, worried. But this time so was Merlin. So hot, so cold – his whole body shaking as he trembled and leaned over the side of the patient’s bed, vomiting bile into the canister beside it. A hand – old, withered, warm – patted Merlin’s back softly as the addict emptied his stomach._

 

_But then the image changed again, and the old physician was speaking._

_‘Heroin,’ Gaius had said as he’d watched Merlin fidget before him – hands fraying the edge of a hole in his jeans. ‘Is not an easy drug to shake.’_

_Merlin had nodded, swallowing even though his mouth had suddenly gone dry – cottony. He kept nodding, even after Gaius had probably gotten the point, because_ Merlin _needed to get the point – for Will, he needed to get the point._

_Addiction. It was what Will’s mum had died of. It was what had followed the kid throughout his life –_

_And_ god _, if he’d known the impact his death would have, Will would’ve made Merlin swear to never touch anything ever again, done something stupid like cut their thumbs or spit in his hand to seal the deal –_

_But he hadn’t. Hadn’t had time, hadn’t known what would happen, hadn’t had it in himself to question Merlin’s ability to live after he died. And so now Merlin was paying for it, shaking and writhing and wishing he had some water while at the same time wishing himself dead –_

_A cold hand on his forehead hadn’t done much then, either. Everything had hurt – every fiber of his being burning as his body tried to equally expel and retain that godforsaken drug –_

“ – do _not_ have any legal claim to my suspect!”

 

Merlin winced at the sudden noise, unwillingly thrust from unconsciousness as he heard a clatter, then a scuffle. His eyes automatically popped open when a door slammed shut, making the warlock wince again, more violently, wincing at the stale light of  the room he was in.

 

The room was small, starkly white, and contained one exit - a door that had, unfortunately – just been shut and locked from the outside. Directly in front of the warlock was a metal table, bolted to the floor, and a similarly bolted metal chair.

 

And then Merlin’s eyes traveled a bit further up, meeting first a well tailored pair of pants, then crossed arms then a pair of piercing, clear blue eyes and –

 

“Ah, bugger.” The thief groaned, wincing as he accidently pulled at the cuffs linking his hands together. Hopeless, he dropped his face to the table. “Why’d ‘t haff t’be you?” He mumbled (rather dramatically, if Arthur had any say in the matter) into the cold metal. Even though the pain was getting bearable – well, facing Arthur – that was a different thing entirely.

 

Merlin’s face flushed as his mind reminded him exactly what the inspector looked like without the badge and uniform and really, he could’ve just died right then.

 

“Your ears are turning pink.” Arthur deadpanned from across the room. Merlin didn’t dare look up to see what type of expression was on the inspector’s face.

 

Instead, the warlock busied himself by trying to think of everything _except_ for the young Pendragon’s well toned calves.

 

Arthur cleared his throat, expectantly.

 

Merlin mentally went over everything that hurt – after all, the Special Forces had roughed him up a bit on the ride over. Which, well, pretty much everything hurt.

 

Arthur shuffled a bit, walking around the room.

 

Merlin tried to ignore it – but then he heard a pop, and looked up just in time to see Arthur turning back to make eye contact after having pulled the bundle of camera and microphone cords from their plug on the wall.

 

The inspector wordlessly quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms again.

 

To be perfectly honest, Merlin hadn’t expected this. With such a blatant, dangerous display of magic – honestly the equivalent of flipping the two-finger salute to the whole British government – the warlock had expected to head straight the Uther’s hidden facility; do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

 

But evidently, if the ruckus that he’d awoken to was anything to go by, Arthur wasn’t so easily avoided. The man was a Pendragon through and through – whiny and pushy until they got what they wanted.

 

Merlin sighed, breaking the eye contact. (Another thing Pendragons were good at? Staring someone down until they visibly _withered_. Not that Merlin was much cowed by the inspector… he was just tired, and in pain, and disoriented without his magic so easily at hand.)

 

“Alright. I give up. How’d you do it?” Arthur asked, sounding frustrated.

 

Before the warlock could respond, though, the inspector spoke again, his voice getting steadily louder.“No – wait – I take that back. I actually really want to know _why in god’s holy fuck_ did you think that breaking into _Westminster Abbey_ was a bloody brilliant idea?!”

 

Merlin frowned, looking up. Arthur wasn’t done though, his expression a mixture of incredulity and awe.

 

“Do you actually think that you’re fucking invincible? Are you hearing bloody _voices_ or something? Is Jesus _himself_ telling you when to nick a painting and when to wipe your ass?! Because that was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen!” The inspector finished, breathing a bit heavily, staring at Merlin as though the warlock’s face alone would reveal the truth.

 

He couldn’t help it. Merlin chuckled. Arthur’s eyes widened, obviously believing something along the lines that he was dealing with a truly mental case.

 

Then Merlin started laughing, loud and hoarse and body-wracking. It brought tears to his eyes, partially from the pain of such spastic movement, partially because he hadn’t laughed like this in a bloody well long time.

 

“What? What is it? Are you actually insane?!” Arthur said, a bit defensive, a bit disbelieving.

 

Finally, the laughter subsided, and Merlin was able to speak. “I just find it funny –“

 

“Evidently.” Arthur cut in, dryly.

 

  
“-That _this_ is how you deal with rejection.” And Merlin grinned, giggling again.

 

Arthur’s mouth worked for a minute, his voice trying to catch up to the rest of the conversation. Finally:

 

“I was not the one rejected!”

 

Merlin snorted. “Sure you weren’t.”

 

“I – but -! If I recall I was the one who told you to leave!”

 

“I don’t think you telling me to leave is really important right now.” Merlin countered. “After all, you were just rejected as my interrogator, weren't you? Not to mention those files I gave you.”

 

Arthur’s face turned stony at this, and Merlin internally sighed. “Stop avoiding my questions, Emrys. I want to know how you managed to do that and why.”

 

Merlin sighed. “Did you even read the files I gave you, Pendragon? And can you not speak so loudly? I have quite the kicker of a headache.”

 

“I don’t particularly think you’re in any situation to be making requests.” Arthur replied, jutting his chin out. _Ah. A lover scorned, indeed_. Merlin thought, refraining from rolling his eyes.

 

“Look, Inspector Prat – if you’d taken the time to read that file, you would’ve realized that things haven’t been adding up –“ Arthur mouthed ‘Inspector Prat’, confused – but Merlin ignored it, continuing.

 

“People have been disappearing.”

 

Arthur sighed. “People vanish all the time. It’s unfortunate, but it happens. Anyway, why in the world would a thief like yourself even care?”

 

Merlin grimaced at the dig. “Just because I can nick some jewels doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart. And I’m telling you – “

 

Just then, there was a banging on the metal door, and a muffled ‘Time’s up!”

 

Arthur scowled, turning to open the doorway.

 

Merlin panicked. “Wait – no, don’t leave yet! I swear, after this you won’t see me – even you can’t change that!”

 

Arthur paused at this, his back to Merlin, straight as a rod. “Then tell me now.”

Merlin swallowed, the words tumbling out. “It’s magic, Arthur. You gotta believe me – these people, they're being taken because they have magic – and Westminster, that was magic, too – I have it and I can use it and now they’re going to take me away –“

 

The knocking was back, with more muffled commands, and Merlin kept talking even as Arthur sighed and opened the door, not looking back even as the warlock called his name.

 

“Arthur – _wait_!”

 

But then the inspector was gone, and the door was slamming shut again.

 

And then Merlin was alone once more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support I've gotten thus far! Really, you guys are the best, and I'm so happy you're enjoying my work so much. Some of the comments... I can't even find the words to respond to them, they're just amazing. Thank you again and I hope you like this chapter! Y'all are the best!
> 
> Until next time, cheers!


	6. '...is certainly worth living for.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is super duper unbeta'd... also I love Merlin BUT the pain is necessary.

 

  
Arthur had to admit that it wasn’t his most brilliant moment. Actually, if the inspector were to be perfectly honest with himself, that had been one of his least brilliant moments. He’d had Emrys there – had been able to grab a couple minutes of time before whoever the hell those men were snatched him up for good –

 

And then he let his indignation get the best of him. They’d gotten off track, and honestly when Merlin did start speaking it was only to spew fantastical bullshit.

 

The inspector groaned, shoving his face into his hands. He was at home now – having been promptly chewed out and given a week of ‘paid vacation’ by Kiligan for the stunt he pulled. Evidently, even his superior was intimidated by the men who’d come for Emrys.

 

Arthur had to shiver at the thought. Kiligan was not easily cowed – usually too busy smoking a cigar and scowling to be swayed or intimidated.

 

But this time had been different.

 

_‘Arthur,’ He’d said, staring at the inspector through a cloud of acridic smoke. His look had been as unreadable as ever – but his voice, it was different. More earnest. Meaningful. Warning. ‘For the sake of you and the sake of your career, I’m going to tell you one thing and one thing only: drop it. This case is not worth it. Emrys is in good hands now –‘_

_Arthur wasn’t convinced, if the micro expression of a grimace that passed over the man’s face was anything to go by._

_‘- and your assistance is no longer needed.’ Kiligan had said, leaning back in his chair. At Arthur’s stunned, disbelieving expression, the officer had sighed, stubbing out his cigar in a nearby ash tray. Never mind that smoking was illegal inside the Yard. ‘Now I suggest you go on a week-long vacation. It’s been a tough last few years.’_

_‘But –‘ Arthur had begun to protest, stopping as his boss interrupted him._

_‘I_ suggest _, Pendragon, that you go on_ vacation _.’ His eyes had bore into Arthur’s, and the inspector nearly imagined the light that glinted in them was not just a reflection._

_But just as soon as the thought had entered his mind, it left – Arthur shaking it as foolery._

_He’d left the Yard, more confused and out of sorts than he had been for years. Hell, he felt almost as lost as when he’d first stepped out of Pendragon Mansion, duffle bag in hand, looking around and wondering ‘where the hell now?’_

_After all, just like then, Arthur’s life had been ripped right out from under his feet. Emrys – he’d been Arthur’s life for so long and now –_

_Now he was just whisked away, a case closed, a discarded file –_

 

The inspector jerked up, nearly knocking over the glass of wine to his left. He was sitting at the table – the same table that only days ago Merlin had revealed himself at.

 

And, honestly, that man was crazy… Talking about magic and conspiracies and so much more –

 

Arthur paused, his brain churning as his thoughts began to race around.

 

What if some of it was… not false?

  
Preposterous – it wasn’t like Uther was some devious mastermind behind the disappearances of a bunch of children. But… but what if there were really people going missing? What if Emrys was actually on to something, just mislead…

The young Pendragon groaned, shoving his head into his hands. And really – after the one night stand, he really hadn’t expected things to get worse. But they had.

Immensely.

But then a thought entered his mind. The inspector stood up suddenly, running over to the trash can. He needed to see the file again – to find that list of names. Maybe Emrys was wrong on some parts – but it couldn’t possibly all be false. After all, the papers did look official. Someone had to be doing something wrong… it was just a matter of who, and why.

Digging through old takeout and empty crisp bags, Arthur got to the bottom of the trash can – not files.

“Ah, fuck!” The maid service had been by Tuesday – emptying the whole container. The inspector groaned, scrubbing as his face as he tried to think of his options. No file, no names, no copies, no way of talking to Merlin…

Then a thought struck him. Arthur dumped the pile of trash back into the container, running across the room. Hopefully the maid service had missed it…

And yes, there, on the far side of the loveseat was a crumpled up ball of paper. Arthur grabbed it, carefully unwrinkling the mess. It was the same note, still signed Uther Pendragon.

It looked aged, a little worse for wear… But honestly, not matter how many ways the inspector looked at it, he couldn’t deny that it was, at the moment, his only lead.

And that meant one thing.

He’d have to talk to Uther.

 

***

 

If there was one thing Merlin was uncertain about, it was the passage of time. Often as a kid he’d either end up spending too much or too little time doing this or that – getting himself into trouble for wasting the day away, or slacking on a task. As it was now, though, the passage of time was even more warped for the warlock; the lack of magic making everything off-kilter and distorted.

It was horrible.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the room Arthur had left him in. There was no clock, and no one came to the door.

 

_It had been a normal afternoon. Will had been walking beside Merlin, puffing the last bit of a roach and talking about nothing in particular, wearing that disgustingly orange, oversized windbreaker. Merlin, in the meantime, was drinking a beer he’d nicked from the local package store._

_The day had been one of the last warm days of August, making sweat bead on both of their foreheads._

_The pair turned down an alleyway, going nowhere in particular, when it happened. Will had exclaimed, dropping the joint nub just in time to dodge a swing. Merlin, though, had been less lucky. The bat to the back of his head jarred him, sending the thin teen tumbling into the asphalt. He blacked out for a moment._

_When he came to, it was to the taste of bile rising at the back of his throat, and the lopsided sight of a ring of Cenred’s thugs beating the daylights out of Will._

_It was when the knife in one of the other teenager’s hand appeared that the warlock saw red._

_The next time Merlin woke up, he was chained to a hospital bed, Gaius talking quietly to the officer at the end of his bed._

_According to the official report, Cenred’s street gang had made a potent, homemade bomb – destroying half a block and killing everyone, save for - miraculously - Merlin._

 

_But Merlin and Gaius – they knew better._

 

Merlin jolted awake, his face pressed against the hard metal of the table, as the door swung open with a sharp clang.

The warlock blinked, bleary only for a moment, but thankfully not nearly as pained. Evidently, his body was getting accustomed to the loss of magical connection.

The thought made his stomach churn.

“Emrys, is it?”

 Merlin only scowled, staring down the man who entered. He was tall enough, the warlock supposed, with peppered hair and a matching, closely trimmed beard. He walked with the air of a man who had all the power in the world, and all the time to use it.

The warlock immediately didn’t like him.

“Mmm. A feisty one, I see.” The man said, raising a brow at the warlock. Merlin held his gaze.

The man sighed, adjusting his suit and pinning another grey look on the mage. “Well I don’t suppose we need you to talk where you’re going, anyway.” Then he gestured, leisurely. Two big, burly men walked in, one carrying a small suitcase.

Merlin eyed it warily, momentarily breaking the man’s eye contact.

The suitcase was set on the table. The man walked towards it, opening the thing with precise clicks and a flick of his wrist. In a conversational tone, he began:

“Emrys, do you know who I am?”

Merlin snorted at this. The man glared, then continued digging and arranging in the suitcase.

“Well, you will soon. My name is Aredian, and I am employed for a very specific reason.” The man, Aredian, continued. Then he pulled a syringe from the suitcase, as well as a small bottle.

Merlin felt his stomach beginning to sink and churn uncomfortably as the burly men closed the door, standing in front of it. Aredian ignored them, instead filling the syringe with a clear, shimmery liquid. He continued conversationally:

“You see, Emrys – not many people are privy to the knowledge that _I_ am privy to. Not many people would believe it, either, if I told them my true trade.”

Merlin had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Aredian was smiling a bit, looking rather on the sadistic side, and honestly the warlock had seen a better villain performance from old reruns.

Aredian, though, didn’t seem to notice Merlin’s borderline panicked amusement. Instead, he merely flicked the syringe a bit, nudging the stopper, a soft smile on his face.

“But you, Emrys. My, you must be very familiar with my knowledge,” and at this the man once again shot the warlock a piercing gaze. “I would be very pleased if I could some day become acquainted with your teachers.”

And that was the moment that Merlin realized his suspicions were correct, and that this man meant business, and probably pain, and knew about magic – Suddenly this didn't seem like nearly that good of an idea, and Merin began to feel fear and panic edging into his brain.

And as though hearing the warlock’s thoughts, Aredian moved closer, holding up the syringe. “They have a name for me, you know. They call me The Witchfinder.” At this the older man chuckled, motioning for one of the larger men to grab the warlock’s arm, holding it out for the needle.

“And what would that have to do with me?” Merlin said rather weakly, because they both knew. Merlin had wanted people to know - had wanted to be in this place, and from the look on the Witchfinder's face, he knew it too. Merlin's weak retort didn't deserve a response.

But Aredian seemed in a sociable mood, so he said, even as the needle piercing the warlock’s skin, “Well, Emrys, I _do_ believe you’re a sorcerer.” The look on his face was humored, and Merlin was really beginning to hate it. So he did the only thing he could do at the moment, chained and without magic - he jutted out his chin and scowled.

 “You don’t know that.” 

The other man chuckled at this – actually chuckled – and said, “Soon enough I will.”

And then the liquid in the syringe hit the warlock’s bloodstream, and Merlin couldn’t help it; he screamed.

 

***

 

Pendragon Manor was just as Arthur remembered. Maybe a bit less brilliant, a bit more worn around the edges, a bit more unkempt. But those were minor things – stuff that could be attributed to memory, or the fading sky of evening.

It had been a day since Arthur had seen Merlin. A day since he had un-crumpled Uther’s supposed memo.

It had taken a day and quite a bit of worrying for Arthur to finally bring himself to call Uther.

Standing in front of the manor lawn now – taxi pulling away – and remembering the stunted, painful conversation that had transpired between the two the previous night was almost enough to have the investigator turning tail and leaving.

But then he remembered that maybe – just maybe – people were actually disappearing. And maybe – just maybe – Uther knew something about it. And maybe, just maybe, the last desperate look on Merlin’s face had flashed in the inspector’s brain for a moment, forcing him to steel his nerves.

Not that he would ever let Merlin know any such thing.

Anyway, even if this was a dead end (which Arthur thought to be highly likely), it was still about time that he confronted his father. Years had aged him, making Arthur wiser and much less naïve than his 18 year old self had been. It didn’t make it any easier, though.

After all, for the last fifteen years, Arthur had only been placing Uther’s oppression and control with his own, personally imposed form.

And it was at that realization, that when he’d run away it had been for pretty much nothing, that had Arthur knocking on the door, steeling his shoulders, staring down the meek maid that opened the door.

And it was also that realization that had the inspector looking his father in the eyes when he was lead into the grand dining room. Because for once, Arthur refused to run.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Ok yeah I didn't want to write this part but um, it says Merlin whump in the tags... and it's part of the plot.. er yea. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it! Until next time!


	7. 'High, high in the hills...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I would like to thank my friendjo benjo @deanprays_onthursdays for motivating me to get through this scene. Secondly, I would like to apologize for said scene. Ah haha. Anyway, enjoy(?)!

 

 

Uther Pendragon was an old man.

Arthur had always known that his father would age, and someday die – but looking at the man now, really looking at him for the first time in nearly a decade, Arthur began to wonder if that day would be sooner than expected. True, he was a Pendragon: strong, stern and bull-headed. But looking at Uther, Arthur could tell that age had taken a toll; the old man had wrinkles at the edge of his eyes, a stern cut line in his brow, flecks of white and grey permeating his hair.

True – the politician was still strong on his feet, no hint of ailing health on his persons. But the shock of his father’s age – it got to Arthur in surprising ways.

Because, as he was beginning to realize, Arthur never wanted his father _dead_ , just out of the picture, the strings he’d attached to his son at such a young age cut. Maybe they could form something of a bond, Uther miraculously opening his tightly shut mind.

But that was really just wishful thinking on Arthur’s part, because even as the man spoke, the words were heavy with disappointment.

“Arthur.” He didn’t smile when he said it, merely gazing with that same, haughty look that the inspector new so well from his youth.

“Uther.” Arthur replied, suddenly wishing very much that this conversation wasn’t happening. That he hadn’t gone into law enforcement, hadn’t been assigned Emrys’ case, hadn’t met Merlin, hadn’t been thrown into this whole shitstorm.

But just as quickly as those thoughts entered Arthur’s brain, they were shoved out. It was stupid of him to be so petty and cowardly.

Meanwhile, the older Pendragon seemed to be processing Arthur’s use of his first name, his expression frozen. Naked. Then a second later, the fragile look hardened, and Uther was back.

Arthur swallowed, glancing away and acting like he hadn’t seen the effect of his words.

“Well, I suppose you must be hungry. I’ve had the cooks prepare us a fine dinner.” Uther said gruffly.

And the cooks had indeed prepared a fine dinner. Arthur had forgotten that particular part of his childhood – the fine dining. Every night was like eating at a five-star restaurant, the only draw-back being that he had had to behave as though he were in one, too. Disgustingly enough, the inspector found his memory triggered as he sat down, had his chair pushed in by a nameless attendant and the napkin lain across his lap. As the first course was laid out and he had to pause to remember the correct fork and knife.

What was the worst, though, was the silence.

That, too, triggered memories. After all, Arthur’s father was a statesman above all else, and didn’t have time for emotions, let alone conversations with children.

Arthur winced at that, hiding the involuntary action as he took a smooth sip of wine.

It was as dessert was being served – some chocolate mousse concoction that dissolved on the tongue in a rather disconcerting manner – that Uther finally spoke.

“Arthur, I do not condone your sexual deviance.” The old Pendragon didn’t look up at the inspector, instead shoveling another piece of mousse into his mouth.

Arthur stared at him, mouth gaping, fork halfway raised.

The inspector was about to speak, to finally say his mind, tell Uther off, but the older man continued before he could.

“But alas, you are also my son. And because of that, I would be willing to overlook your flaws and offer you a position at my company.”

And really, what could Arthur say to that?

“My apologies, Uther, but I didn’t realize you were in a position to judge others’ flaws.” Arthur gritted out, forcing the fork to move the rest of the way to his mouth.

Uther made a noise of confirmation, wiping his mouth with a napkin and looking at the inspector to his left. “No, I supposed I’m not. But even if that is the case, I still want you to consider this position, son. It’s much better than the one you have with the Yard.” The old man grimaced at this, looking away.

Arthur had to school his face to be neutral, else he do something regrettable.

Uther went back to eating, as though the tension in the air hadn’t just expanded ten-fold.

Finally, the inspector responded, his voice cool and schooled. “That’s very… gracious of you. I will consider your offer.”

Uther nodded, satisfied looking, and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll have George give you the information before you leave.”

Arthur nodded, relieved that their strained conversation seemed to be over for the night.

  
  
The inspector had tried to snoop around Pendragon Mansion. He really had. But as soon as the young Pendragon had left the dining room – the lie of needing to use the restroom easily dropping off his tongue – Uther’s main butler had immediately been at his side.

Arthur almost forgot how much he actually hated George. Almost.

Just as the cab was pulling up out front, the man had shoved an envelope under Arthur’s nose, along with a contract to be signed. A bloody contract.

“For confidentiality, of course. The information provided along with that job application is rather… sensitive.”

Of _course_. Arthur had skimmed it quickly, annoyed and feeling moderately suffocated by Uther’s prescience. Then, he pocketed the packet, practically running to the loitering cab.

Frustrated, the inspector had slammed the door of his flat when he’d gotten home – childish, true. But he couldn’t help it; Uther had always been like that. Pushing and pulling and looking down his nose and god –

God, was it _horrible_.

Arthur promptly decided he needed a drink. Or five. He undid his tie, threw his coat over the loveseat, kicked off his shoes and went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle wine.

He didn’t bother looking at the envelope.

 

***

 

The next time Merlin woke, it was to a pounding headache.

He was beginning to get tired of waking up like that.

Thankfully, the warlock wasn’t in nearly as much pain as when he’d passed out – courtesy of whatever the hell Aredian had injected him with. Though, he still felt empty, unpleasantly cut off from his magic.

It was disorienting, and even as the warlock peeled open his eyes, he could feel the room churning and twisting. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as well off as he’d originally thought.

Still.

Looking around the room, the warlock was left feeling very, very uncomfortable. He was strapped onto a table, going as far as having his head held in place, and surrounded by numerous wires, tubes and electrical machines. The walls were blaringly white, reflecting the cold, harsh lights on the ceiling.

Everything smelled overpoweringly of antiseptic and bleach.

It made the warlock’s empty stomach churn unpleasantly, and Merlin had to actually count out his breathing in order to not spiral into a full-blown panic attack. He couldn’t reach his magic, couldn’t even move, and – to be perfectly honest with himself – didn’t actually have much of a plan from this point.

He’d always been better at improvising.

Just then the door at the end of the room swung open, snapping Merlin from his reveries.

“Ah, so you’re awake.”

Merlin glared at Aredian, distracting himself by remembering his acute hatred for the man. If he could have, he would’ve punched the witchfinder right in his smug, smiling face.

“Still not talking? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Aredian said, smirking as a couple of underlings in lab coats began running around the room, preparing this and that.

“What did you do to me?” Merlin was mildly chagrin at how his voice came out rusty instead of strong. But that couldn’t really be helpful when you hadn’t had a drop of water in god-knows how long.

“Hmm?” Aredian gave the warlock an absentminded, evil look.

“What did you do to me? What was that shot for?” Merlin repeated. All he had remembered was pain – horrible, muscle-flaying pain. But now… now he was a bit sore, a bit tired, but not pained.

Why?

Aredian chuckled, pressing a couple buttons on one of the machines. “Well, Emrys, that was for me to be able to gauge your magical abilities.” A couple more clicks, and then the witchfinder gestured for one of the faceless orderlies to hook a couple of pads to the warlock’s body. Merlin struggled, but quickly found it useless.

“And my, oh my, Emrys… do you _have magic_.” Aredian chuckled, even as the warlock shot him a burning glare. “Most subjects just feel a bit of discomfort, maybe break a sweat. But you, why I wasn’t expecting such an excellent reaction to the mixture… though of course, it was a bit troublesome to have to explain the screaming to the Yard officers standing outside the door.” Aredian frowned at this, as though he were remembering a rather inconvenient event.

“Couldn’t you have designed a more humane form of detection, doctor?” Merlin spit out, remembering the events that had transpired. It had hurt.

Aredian laughed at this – actually laughed, and the thief felt his face heat up in indignation. “Well of course we do. We here at Lakeside Laboratory wouldn’t use such crude methods to gauge sorcerers. The injection was merely to make sure you were ah, real.

“Though, of course, this form of treatment that is being conducted now… well, let’s just say it activates your secondary, magical nervous system in a rather… how’d you put it? Inhumane manner. But that doesn’t matter, Emrys, because we don’t have to be humane.”

And then Aredian looked up from the machine he’d been tinkering with, and gave the thief a chilling grin. “After all, sorcerers aren’t human.”

Merlin moved to protest, but then an orderly was putting a lower face mask on the warlock, forcing his teeth together and jaw firmly shut, and Aredian was still speaking, saying, “That’s enough talking for now, though. It’s time to start the shock experiment.”

And then he flipped a switch, and the room turned white.

 

***

 

Halfway through his ‘vacation’, and Arthur was at wit’s end. He’d exhausted all his resources in searching for Emrys, minus breaking into the Yard and hacking Kiligan’s computer. Not that Arthur knew how to hack a computer – let alone bring himself to break into the Yard.

In the meantime, the inspector had near well become stir crazy; going from junk food and telly to browsing the internet to _reading_ (something that Leon would probably endlessly tease Arthur about if it ever became known) to actually being _productive_.

Hell, he’d canceled the maid service for that week, and was cleaning his flat.

Bloody crazy, was what it was.

It was just as Arthur was organizing old papers alphabetically that the inspector came across Uther’s envelope. After the fruitless, painful dinner, Arthur had forgotten all about the application.

After all, it wasn’t like the inspector would ever hate himself enough to work for Uther.

Looking at the formal envelope, neat and tidy and sealed with the Pendragon crest (stamped in _wax_ , would you believe?), Arthur actually contemplated starting a fire in the fireplace for the sole purpose of burning the offending document. But then the urge quickly passed, and curiosity got the best of the inspector.

He wedged a fingernail under the wax.

The wax peeled away easily. Carefully, Arthur ripped open the rest of the envelope, careful to leave it salvageable.

Pulling out the papers, the inspector quickly began to flip through the application. It was for a position as head of one of Uther’s many weapons lab – and honestly it paid triple his Yard job. But having to work in such a close proximity to Uther – he couldn’t do it.

Just as the inspector was about to shove the rest of the files back into the envelope and toss them, a small pamphlet fell out of the stack. It had a plain title: The Avalon Project.

Arthur frowned picking the folded paper up. True, he had never been close to his father, but Uther had always made an effort to make sure Arthur was familiar – very familiar – with all his work. Yet The Avalon Project didn’t ring a bell.

But then the inspector opened the pamphlet and sudden, yes, he understood very much why he’d never heard of this – because dammit if it wasn’t legal –

And then suddenly everything made much, _much_ more sense. Because, unbelievable as it was, Merlin was right.

And it was in that same moment that Arthur suddenly realization that the thief was also _fucked_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor baby Merlin :( Don't worry, though, at least Arthur has finally come to his senses! 
> 
> Side note: thanks to everyone for all their support and comments, it means the world and you guys are the best! 
> 
> Anyway, cheers until next time!


	8. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens! (Also - I made some playlists on youtube that I used for this work - it can be found if you just go to my MTAE extras work!)

 

It took Arthur four glasses of wine, three nature documentaries and two bags of digestives before he’d come up with a proper plan for getting Emrys back. It was shoddy, and full of variables that the inspector really didn’t want to think about (hence, the wine). But it was a plan and Arthur would be damned if he didn’t do something.

After all, he felt a bit responsible. Alright, a decent amount responsible.

Okay, if Arthur was being perfectly truthful, the guilt was eating at him. Merlin had come to him, gone to some lengths to get this information, entrusted the inspector to be level headed and unbiased – all for what? So that Arthur would toss him aside because he dared smear his father’s name?

Hell, Uther himself admitted to this whole scheme. Arthur ground his teeth together, flipping from a documentary on the Arctic to something more heartwarming about monarch butterflies.

It didn’t have to soothing effect he had hoped for.

Nothing probably would until the inspector set things straight. Of course, this only meant he would rescue Merlin from the inhumane facility that Uther had most likely sent him to (after all, if magic was real… well where else would they take a cocky magical bastard?). After Arthur saved Merlin yadda yadda, he would then promptly take the little bugger to jail. After all, Emrys had stolen billions of pounds of possessions, and let’s not even get started on the property damage –

No, the only reason Arthur was even considering helping that pompous ass was because it was the right thing to do.  No other reason. Certainly not because he felt bad about kicking Merlin out or anything.

Arthur nodded to himself.

Tomorrow morning, he would break into Lakeside Laboratories, guns a-blazing, and save the day.

 

***

 

Arthur woke up the next morning to a rather nasty hangover. After emptying his stomach into the loo, though, he’d managed to choke down Alka-Seltzer’s and pull out his phone.

Uther was as excited as a cold, heartless man like himself ever could be to hear that Arthur wanted to tour the labs.

Arthur took that as a good sign, and mentally went over what he would need for his plan.

…And, well, was immediately disappointed. The plan was so open ended that the inspector could only think of bringing a gun. And even then… Well, he’d have to find a way to get it through (knowing Uther) what was probably a pretty high-tech security plan.

God, why did Merlin have to be a damned martyr?

Arthur immediately flushed as his mind (very inappropriately and obnoxiously) reminded him of what _else_ Merlin could be.

Arthur couldn’t wait to drag that sorcerer’s ass to jail.

 

***

 

After Aredian’s ‘testing’, Merlin had been dragged (quite literally) to a small, austere room. The lights were bright and hurt the warlock's eyes, while the cot he was thrown onto was stiff and unforgiving.

Nevertheless, he’d just laid there for an undetermined amount of time, trying to even his breathing and regain control of his limbs. Everything was sore, and his head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed full of cotton and held together by twine. The room kept coming in and out of focus, but Merlin couldn’t be arsed at the moment to care.

His jaw hurt from clenching down so hard.

Finally, though, the warlock was able to regain his composure enough to let his eyes wander around the room. It had his cot, which was bolted to the floor, and a door with a slit in it – for food, he presumed.

The wall opposite his cot contained a large, dark mirror.

Merlin groaned, deciding that it was overkill for them to put a viewing room in his cell.

Absentmindedly, the warlock began to assess his body. It was something he’d started doing long ago, and it brought a kind of calm, placating feeling over him now.

_Merlin bit his tongue, drawing blood, as he heard more than felt the sickening pop of a shoulder fitting back into the socket. Then it was over, and the pain that had been vibrating down his left side dissolved._

_“Merlin, my boy, you must be more careful.” Gaius had said, sighing as he caught sight of the miserable look on the teenager’s face._

_“I know Gaius, it’s just… they’d been gangin’ up on this homeless bloke, takin’ his stuff and all, laughin’ while they did it!” Merlin protested, even as a cold hand put light pressure on the side of his face, tilting it up so the retired physician could better see the bruising that was already starting to swell the left side of the warlock’s face._

_Gaius sighed, releasing his light grasp. “Merlin, though I commend you for your pure intentions, I cannot say I approve of you picking so many fights. It’s bad enough that you and William are involved with Kane –“_

_“Oi, he’s not that bad –“ Merlin began, clamping his mouth shut, though, when Gaius sent him a sharp look._

_“Involved with Kane. Someday you’ll realize this, but you cannot win every fight you enter.”_

_“But that doesn’t matter,” Merlin sighed, looking at his hands, look much, much older than his true age. “What matters is standin’ up for what you believe in.” And then he looked up at Gaius, his eyes bright, deep blue and naked – full of emotion even as his posture closed off._

_Gaius could only sigh, bringing the orphan into a careful embrace._

_***_

_As Merlin and Will grew, their friendship became closer – as well as their relationship with Gaius. Even though by the time the pair had entered their teen years the old man was only working part time at the orphanage, he nevertheless was not allowed to adopt them. It was a stupid rule – not allowing people who worked at Ealdor to adopt the children there – and as time went on, Merlin couldn’t help but be bitter for the fact that Gaius didn’t quit his job._

_He knew it was selfish, though, so he’d kept quiet about his secret wish, instead spending as much time as he could manage at the old man’s flat, accompanied by Will, flipping through books or keeping Gaius company._

_Or, more often than Gaius was comfortable with, getting patched up from their most recent ‘adventure’._

_Gaius would tut and worry and lecture – but he never, ever refused the pair care._

_In some ways, Merlin wondered if this was part of the reason that Will –_

_That Will had died._

_Because maybe if the pair had been given the cold shoulder, had been denied after a street fight, had been left to sort out the broken pieces and their broken bodies on their own–_

_Maybe they would’ve stopped._

_Merlin had thought about it more than once – dreamed about it; reality and the past and the wishful all blending together during his more potent heroin-induced dreams._

_But no matter how much he went over the past, tried to figure out what went wrong and erase the mistakes he’d made, Merlin couldn’t ever come to any other realization than one:_

_That he’d killed Will. Killed him in cold blood, destroying all sense of himself and family that he’d ever been privy to. He had smashed everything that those three had worked so hard for – every hope of a happy ending – in one fit of burning rage._

_After the dust had settled and Will had been buried, Merlin had shut down._

_Running away from Ealdor with only a bag of possessions – half of which were Will’s – Merlin had vowed he’d never in good conscience use his magic again. It had hurt, and burned, and ached – not being able to use something so natural, so essential to his existence._

_But Merlin had pushed aside the discomfort by magicking a fake ID, and wasting away in dive bars and back alleys. But then the booze didn’t help enough – didn’t take the edge off of his hunger and loneliness (because after all, the warlock had reverted to a liquid, liver-mutilating diet – unable to stomach real food) – and so Merlin had turned to the only thing he could, in his alcohol-addled mentality, think of._

_He turned to drugs._

_Drugs, and parties, and clubs, and strings of one night stands._

_Merlin’s 17 th birthday passed in a run-down motel room, snorting coke and smashed Xanax and plowing through three bottles of cheap wine with a man he couldn’t even remember the first name of. _

_Merlin’s 18 th birthday was spent with a bird named Kara and her boyfriend, Cedric. They’d held up a package store, taking enough money for as many narcotics as they could get their hands on, and grabbing enough booze to stay drunk for two weeks._

_By the time he turned 19, though, Merlin had left the drugs, sex and violence behind in favor of one overpowering interest: heroin._

_It was only when Merlin woke up in the hospital, breathing tube shoved down his throat, IVs snaking from his blue veins, Gaius sitting red-eyed and silent at the end of his bed, that the warlock even stopped to think._

_And when he finally was able to stand up, walk across the room and look in the mirror, he hated what he saw._

_Because the emaciated corpse that looked back at him was unrecognizable._

_***_

 

In a truly Uther fashion, the older Pendragon had sent a chauffeur to pick up Arthur. The inspector had been apprehensive, hesitating before climbing into the backseat, and sitting on the edge of his seat the whole ride.

The sun had been setting when Arthur had been picked up, and by the time that the chauffeur pulled up to a squat, unimpressive building about an hour outside of London, night had fully descended, wrapping the countryside in a layer of heavy darkness.

Uther met him at the entrance, giving only a curt nod of acknowledgement. Thankfully, Arthur was apparently important enough to get whisked right past the security detail and metal detectors. He was lead down a hallway, where he was quickly introduced to Uther’s head doctor – Aredian.

Arthur’s felt his gut drop and heart clench when he recognized the man – having been one of the group that had shown up at the Yard, claiming legal possession of Emrys.

Aredian, though, did not seem to recognize Arthur. He was too busy giving sickly smiles and talking carefully around the rather nasty aspects of Lakeside’s ‘operation’.

Arthur had to clench his hands and grind his teeth in order to keep the professional, interested look on his face. It was difficult.

“You see,” the doctor was saying, leading Arthur down a long white hallway exactly like all the other long white hallways, “These sorcerers are dangerous. They have power that they can’t control, and that is dangerous to the greater masses. Here at Lakeside, though, we recognize their need to be wrangled and subdued – for the sake of the people, of course – and put it to a _good_ use.”

And then Aredian pressed his hand against a scanner attached to a door, and swung it open with grand finesse. “Weapons.” He finished, a smug, shitty smile stretching his face.

The door had swung open to show a whole hanger of strange machinery – guns that looked futuristic, not quite right, bombs and missles and technology that Arthur couldn’t even put his finger on – and the inspector had to even out his breathing, because god, was this so much worse than he ever expected.

But he couldn’t break his mask, not now, while Aredian was looking so expectantly at him. Not after Uther had left the pair for ‘important business’, leaving Arthur to fend for himself against the doctor’s slightly psychotic rambling and paintings of grandeur.

So Arthur nodded, humming his false approval.

Aredian seemed pleased, closing the hangar door again, and ushered Arthur to once again fall into step behind him.

“Now, Mr. Pendragon – for the best part of the whole facility!” Aredian exclaimed, suddenly getting excited, his pace picking up.

“The Subject Wing!”

Arthur perked at this, his heart suddenly speeding up and his hand grazing the gun holstered within his business suit.

_Merlin._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was going to update yesterday, but then I had a panic attack and low-key breakdown (nice, right? I'm not even a month into the semester #solid). But whatever! I'm updating today so we're all good :)
> 
> In other news, I love you guys so much and right now am totally open to one-shot prompts, which you can prompt on my tumblr! http://saltyemrys.tumblr.com/ask (hint hint lmfao)
> 
> But seriously, I love all your guys' support and feedback! It makes me so happy to see people reading and enjoying my writing! Thank you so much, and until next time, cheers!


	9. "...so we beat on, boats against the current..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to thank Benji for falling asleep while discussing this chapter with me. You did not help me whatsoever with it's creation, and therefore THIS happened because of your NEGLIGENCE.

 

 

_Arthur had always been a lonely child. With a dead mother and vacant shell for a father, the young Pendragon had always had a craving for affection. He found quickly that the attention and compassion from nannies and tutors only went so far – and were more often than not only bought and paid for. Even the one nanny that stood out in the child’s memory, Alice, only lasted the young heir a year._

 

_Uther, though callous in his own right, did not believe in letting Arthur become emotionally attached in any way, shape or form. For him, it was a means of protecting his only son and heir to a corporate empire from manipulation and mal-use._

 

_For Arthur, it left him miserable and a little bit lost._

 

_As the years went on, Uther managed to have just enough of a presence in his son’s childhood to chase off not only a string of wet nurses, nannies and tutors, but also any other children his age. After all, whenever someone came to play at Pendragon Mansion, it was always made certain that they would never come back._

 

_It was during middle school that the young Pendragon eventually gave up on friendship. It was too tedious to jump through all his father’s hoops, and the dilapidated childhood had left Arthur emotionally constipated._

 

_He found he thrived best at a distance._

 

_And so Arthur thrived – at least in Uther’s eyes. Star student, loved by teachers and tutors, dazzling athlete (though the older Pendragon was always too engaged to go to any of his games) and brilliant mind._

 

_Best of all, though, Arthur showed promise in being able to further Uther’s company. After all, he was a textbook husband, and would undoubtedly be a hefty bartering piece_ _when he came of age._

 

_It in the middle of Arthur’s 18 th birthday dinner that Uther announced his plans._

 

_Arthur was chewing an appropriately sized piece of steak – not too big that it was inappropriate table manners, but not too small that he would be emasculated._

 

_Arthur, personally, hated steak._

 

_Uther in the meantime raised a lazy finger, signaling one of the attendants to refill his wine glass. The politician took a sip of the wine. Then, not looking up, said:_

 

_“You are to be engaged within the month.”_

 

_Arthur choked, spitting out a mouthful of half-chewed food, managing to send it down the front of his newest suit and tie._

 

 _“I’m to_ what _?!” Arthur choked out, trying to breathe properly. He had been certain he’d just heard his father say –_

 

_“I said, you are to be engaged to Elena Kingston by the end of the month.” Uther repeated, giving his son a sharp look from down the table._ _Arthur’s jaw moved helplessly. He was unable to form proper words at the moment, shock having disabled his speech._

 

_“I’ll take that as a yes." The father continued, looking back at his food. "I already have sent out the invitations for the dinner party where it will happen, and have sent for Jarvis to pick out the rin –“_

 

_“No.” Arthur said, his jaw working as he tried to keep his voice level._

 

_Uther paused, the scrape of utensils on plates coming to a halt. He looked up, pinning his son under grey, cold eyes._ _“What did you just say?” He enunciated each word, his voice soft, docile – the calm before the storm._

 

_Arthur swallowed, looking away for only a moment, before regaining his strength and meeting his father’s eyes. “I said, father, that I will not be getting engaged.”_

 

 _And that was when the older Pendragon’s calm façade shattered. “And why in the hell not? Elena is young and eligible and a damn good connection for the company! Would you rather ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to create just because of childish_ petulance _?”_

 

_“I do not love her!” Arthur said back, his voice hardening as he spoke. “I do not love her, hell I barely know her!”_

 

 _“It’s not a matter of_ love _, it’s a matter of convenience. You do not have the_ privilege _to -"_

_"I'm gay!" Arthur shouted, immediately cutting off all other noise in the large dining hall. Faintly, in the background, he could hear an attendant gasp._

_He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but nevertheless stared down his father from where he'd gone completely still at the head of the table._

_Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Uther broke the silence._

 

_"What. Did you. Just. Say."_

 

_I_ _t was broken, bitten out._

_Arthur swallowed, not backing down, and in a steady voice, repeated:_

_"I said, father, that I'm_ gay _."_

_"What in the hell type of bullsh-" Uther began, slamming his hands on the table. Arthur cut him off, though, standing and shouting over him. The chair behind the young Pendragon screeched backwards, nearly tipping over, adding to the clamor of their argument._

_"I said I'm gay! I'm bloody gay! I like men, God dammit! You can't control that, Uther! And I sure as hell am not going to marry a_ woman _because you want me to -"_

_Uther had gone beet red, and stood up too, and began to walk around the table, stalking towards his son. "Arthur Ygraine Pendragon I swear to_ god _, if you do not stop this nonsense immediately I will sever your allowance for -"_

_Arthur threw his hands in the air, rage fueling his actions as he stepped the last bit so that son and father were face to face._

_"Damn my allowance!" He shouted, years of repressed emotions and painful, awful, desperate isolation channeling into his voice, "Damn you and your bloody tyranny! You can take it and all your anger and go to hell! You cannot see past your grief and rage for even a moment to see the way you affect others!" And Arthur was crying now, shouting himself hoarse. "The way you affect_ me _! I'm not you and I'm not your bloody chess piece! Do you think this is what she would've wanted for me? Do you think this is what_ Ygraine _would've -"_

_Arthur never got to finish his sentence, the words catching and lodging in his throat even as the resounding 'smack' echoed throughout the room. The younger Pendragon whipped to the side, his head ringing and face hot with humiliation, shock and pain._

_Uther glared him down, hand still raised. "You will not bastardized your mother's name, you ungrateful cocksucker.”_

_Arthur closed off in that moment, the side of his face throbbing, the room rocking unsteadily. He nodded his head, cowed, his brain working a hundred miles per hour even as he avoided eye contact. Tears still silently worked their way down his face._

_Uther, appeased, stood there for a moment more._

_Then, the older Pendragon waved an attendant over to take away the entree and bring in the dessert, sitting down at the head of the table as though nothing had happened._

_Arthur sat down, too, not daring to bring his hand up to touch his throbbing face._

 

_The next day, when Uther came barging into his son's room at noon for missing all his morning classes, it was to find everything neatly arranged, the bed made and a duffle bag of clothing gone._

_***_

Arthur nearly choked when the doctor brought him into a dark room as the last ‘most impressive’ part of the tour. Aredian was grinning, something that didn’t suit him in the least, and talking adamantly about Subject E.

 

“And here – you can see him from this viewing room. Granted, the subject is currently sedated… we’ve had to do that a lot lately – he’s quite the feisty one, after all. But that’s to be expected, what with his M-rating so high –“

 

Aredian continued to prattle on about this and that and the other but Arthur stopped listening to him, his whole body feeling like the air had been punched out, his brain screeching to a halt, because in there, on a shitty little cot and looking as bad as Arthur had ever seen him, was Merlin.

 

 _Merlin_.

 

And Aredian just kept talking, unaware of Arthur’s sudden change of state, talking about the experiments and testing and how it will bring a breakthrough on the weapons from, if only they could push the dissection date up –

 

 _Dissection_.

 

And that’s all it took for Arthur to come back to reality.

 

He pulled out his gun.

 

***

 

Merlin felt himself being forced back to reality, the world coming to him through cotton and sludge.

 

“- erlin!”

 

The warlock groaned, trying to raise a hand to swat at the source of his shaking, failing when he realized it was pinned down.

 

“C’mon, you bloody idiot! We don’t have much time.”

 

And well if that wasn’t strange? The voice sounded like Arthur, and the restraints were tugging at him, and then they were gone and –

 

“Jesus!” Merlin yelped, snapping his eyes open and glaring around the room from where he was currently on the floor. Where he had so rudely been dumped on the floor in his fragile state thanks to Arthur –

 

“Wait – Arthur?” Merlin squinted, pursing his lips, trying to see if he was hallucinating or not. Arthur was right there, looking a bit rumpled, a bit concerned but also really, really smug.

Bastard.

 

“The one and only.” The inspector said, smirking even as he bent down to help Merlin up. “Now, we’ve got about three minutes before somebody sounds the alarm,” he grabbed the warlock’s arm, just above the cold iron cuff, pulling him into a standing position. “I don’t have anything for you to wear right now so I suppose you'll just have to deal with that dress thingy –“

 

“Arthur.”

 

“- and no, I don’t remember the name of it at the moment but really, Merlin, is this the time for you to be complaining?” The inspector continued, pulling the somewhat reluctant warlock towards the door. “But we have to get to my car because I don’t particularly fancy carrying you –“

 

“Arthur!” Merlin said louder, stopping the inspector’s speech.

 

Arthur stared at the warlock, owl-eyed.

 

“Thank you.” A giant grin stretched across the thief’s face, and he pecked the inspector on the cheek.

 

“I –“ Arthur began, a bit dazed.

 

“Not now, Pratdragon. Don’t we have a timer ticking down? Now do you have a pair of pliers or something? I need to get this bracelet off…” Merlin said, grinning, feeling more renewed than he had in _months_ despite his maltreatment over the past week.

 

***

 

As it was, the first round of guards stormed into viewing room – where the pair had run to once Arthur realized that the (unconscious) doctor probably had the key on him – just as the bracelet clattered to the ground.

 

The air stilled, the vibrated, then glowed – matching the glow in the warlock’s eyes, and Merlin couldn’t help but grin as his power expanded.

 

The guards were thrown back, smacking through the doorway and into the hallway, knocked unconscious.

 

Merlin giggled, despite himself, cracking his neck and not wanting the glow in his eyes to dim.

 

“Jesus Christ, Merlin…” Arthur breathed, gaping at the lithe man before him.

 

Suddenly the warlock regained himself, biting his bottom lip and only scarcely daring to look at the inspector. “Um…” Merlin said, at a loss for words. “Er… I told you so?”

 

Arthur’s mouth worked, even as he continued to gape, and Merlin looked down at where his hands were getting all caught and tangled in his hospital gown. He didn’t want to see the disgust and hatred that would surface on the other man’s face.

 

“You bloody _cheater_!”

 

“Eh?” Merlin looked up, frowning.

 

“That’s why you kept getting away! You were bloody well _cheating_!” Arthur exclaimed, his gape turning into a grin. “I would’ve gotten you in Amsterdam, if you hadn’t been using that bloody magic, wouldn’t I?”

 

It was Merlin’s turn to gape. Arthur wasn’t calling him a monster, wasn’t hating him for what he was born with, wasn’t angry (relatively, at least), wasn’t afraid, wasn’t disgusted.

 

He was getting _pissy_? About _this_?

 

“And Beijing – that was your damn magic, wasn’t it? You nearly killed me with that engine failure!” Arthur exclaimed, looking as though his little brain was doing too much work (if Merlin did say so himself).

 

In response, the warlock chuckled. Then he started laughing, and suddenly he couldn’t stop, his sides hurting from the exertion. And Arthur was looking at him like he was insane.

 

“Why are you laughing? It wasn’t funny! I have a reputation to uphold, don’t I?”

 

Between chuckles, Merlin managed to reply. “Gods – _that_ is what you're upset about?”

 

Arthur gave him another befuddled look. “…Yeah. What they hell shouldn’t I be upset?”

 

Merlin snorted, his laughing having subsided. “Not because of the fact that I can do magic?”

 

And then Arthur opened his mouth to reply, stopped as his brain actually began to function along the lines of what some would call ‘properly’.

 

“Ah. Um. Yeah. That too. Why _can_ you do magic? Is it to compensate for your absolutely rubbish at anything remotely stealthy?” The inspector suddenly said, confused for a whole different reason.

 

Merlin was about to respond, lips pursed, but was cut off by a volley of gunfire coming in from the doorway. “Shit! Duck!”

 

And as Arthur jumped back from the doorway grabbing for where his gun had been holstered, Merlin put up a field – absorbing the shock of the new bullet.

 

Then, he sent it outward.

 

It smashed through the doorway, clearing their exit for escape.

 

“Arthur, quick!”

 

And then Merlin was grabbing the inspector’s arm, pulling him along.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying this but that's because I mean it: thank you so much to everyone who reads, kudos and comments on this! You guys are literally the best! Ilysm!
> 
> Anywho, until next time, Cheers!


	10. Brave New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned recently that I love your guys' support? Because I do. You guys are the best.

 

Merlin woke up and immediately felt _everything_.

“Nghh..” He groaned, squeezing his eyelids further shut. It felt as though his brain was trying to fight its way out of his skull, while the sunlight was trying to stab its way in. All Merlin wanted was to go back to sleep, and forget about everything for a while, and maybe not hurt so much because did he mention that everything fucking _hurt_?!

“Took you long enough.” Said a voice from somewhere above the warlock. Merlin grimaced, still not willing to open his eyes, but trying to place the voice. After all, he could’ve sworn it sounded just like…

“I know you're awake, sunshine. Wouldn’t do for you to open your eyes, though, would it? Oh well. Never had an audience quite close to dead, though I suppose that’s a good thing. Gave me quite the surprise when you just bloody well _appeared_ in here – if I hadn’t been so smashingly stoned off my arse I probably would’ve shot first, asked later. After all, it’s a bit hard to recognize you when you're hanging off of some random bloke, both covered in blood  –“

“…Gwaine?” Merlin groaned out, finally will his eyes to open.

And yes, there he was, grinning like the devil and looming just to the left of where the warlock was laying. “The one and only, mate!” The response was accented with a luxurious flip of brown hair.

“Fancy seeing you here.” The thief replied weakly, glancing around because he actually didn’t know where ‘here’ _was_.

 _Here_ turned out to be a room, bland and white, reserved when it came to furniture – yet cozy and homely in a manner that left Merlin feeling more relaxed than he had in months.

“Gwaine… where am I?” Merlin said, his throat raspy. The smuggler raised a brow, having settled back into the chair to the left of the warlock’s bed.

“My place, mate.” Merlin frowned at this. No matter how close he was to Gwaine, the smuggler never was willing to reveal any actual details pertaining to his life. So saying ‘my place’… it didn’t really clarify anything.

The warlock chose to ignore that fact for the moment.

“But how did I get here?” The thief frowned, taking in the low hanging sun peeking through the half-shaded window. “Why am I not – oh _shit_! Arthur!”

Merlin gasped, his brain just now catching up with memories and flashes of the last few days. It was disorienting, and dear gods how did he get out of there? Where was Arthur?

Evidently the warlock had spoken out loud, because Gwaine was giving him another grin, this one heavier and less genuine, and saying, “Don’t worry, mate. Princess is just fine.” Merlin huffed out a small sigh of relief.  But Gwaine was continuing, his brow a bit furrowed, and he was saying, “And I was about to ask you, actually, how you managed to get here – you just appeared?”

But Merlin was beginning to feel his body giving out again, already, so soon after waking and Gwaine was still talking, saying something about having the living shit scared out of him when Merlin and Arthur had just appeared, and was he really an inspector of the law? Because Gwaine really needed a smoke right now –

“Oi, Merls, you okay down there?” The smuggler said, his brow scrunching in confusion, but Merlin couldn’t concentrate long enough to respond, everything was so heavy and he was so tired.

He just needed to close his eyes…

 

***

 

Arthur was gnawing on his lower lip, his leg jiggling absentmindedly as he sat on the edge of the (ratty, probably infected with god knows what) couch. The coffee table in front of him was a mess, covered in wrappers and ash trays and cigarette butts and rolling papers and half drunken beer cans and oh yes, a bong.

Arthur would’ve laughed at the irony of it, if he wasn’t so worried about Merlin. Not that he would ever admit that he was worried for the sorry bastard. Just…

It had been days. Days, and Merlin was still in that bedroom, only lucid for a moment or five, long enough to choke down some tea or broth, probably not even conscious enough to actually remember the moments he's awake.

Arthur swallowed, ignoring the heavy, unpleasant weight settling at the pit of his stomach.

Just then the door to the bedroom opened, revealing a weary-looking Gwaine. (At least, that’s what the roguish, charismatic man had introduced himself as. Arthur knew his type, though, had been in law enforcement long enough to register the way he’d speak and get nowhere, how his hand always seemed ready to draw even when half-asleep.)

“Any difference?” The inspector asked, mentally cursing for sounding so anxious about it all.

The smuggler sighed, shaking his head. “Not particularly. He did ask for you though, princess.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at the nickname, having given up on shaking it. If Gwaine was anything, he was persistent.

Persistent, and also unbelievably dedicated.

 

***

 

_Arthur’s world had been narrowing, his vision becoming shaky and out of focus even as he tried to look around, look down, stop the burning, spreading pain in his gut._

_He pressed his hand harder, feeling the wetness slick his fingers, feeling the blood keep coming even as all other sensations were dissipating. Vaguely, he registered Merlin’s hand clamping onto his shoulder, worried eyes that were so strange, like beacons, blazing golden and brilliant and so wholly distracting that he didn’t even notice the change of scenery until they were somewhere else._

_Arthur had nearly collapsed when he realized that Merlin had just teleported them. Teleported them away from Uther and the guards and the guns and that awful, awful antiseptic smell –_

_Right into some stoner’s living room._

_Gwaine had squinted at the pair, even as Merlin lurched backwards and fell onto his ass, and Arthur tried to breathe. The smuggler then began to laugh, choking on a cloud of smoke he’d been holding, throwing his head back and letting out peals of laughter even as he struggled to coordinate himself enough to put the still smoking bong on the table._

_“Jesus, are you even real?” He’d finally managed to get out, after working himself down enough to only be giggling._

_Arthur had only managed to nod a bit, locking his knees so as to not straight-up collapse onto the ground._

_And then finally, finally, Gwaine’s eyes had connected with the rest of his body, because he was frowning at Arthur’s bloody gut, and Merlin’s pale, pale façade, and then he’d suddenly let out a small line of curses, trying to get up off the couch._

 

_***_

 

Gwaine, as it turned out, was one of Merlin’s few, close confidants. Arthur had been patched up by a seedy ‘doctor’ by the name of Edwin, who had squinted at the inspector with the utmost suspicion until a still moderately stoned Gwaine had told him in no simple terms to cut it out. After the man had left, small wad of pound notes hastily shoved into a pocket, the smuggler had sat Arthur down.

 

***

 

_“Pendragon? Did I catch that right?” The stoner had given a low whistle, chuckling, lighting up a cigarette. He offered one to Arthur, who’d immediately scrunched up his nose. He never particularly liked smoking._

_Gwaine had merely shrugged, taking a long drag._

_“Well, alright, you're with Merlin, and I trust Merls, so I’m not going to kick your toned little arse to the curb until I get the say-so.” The smuggler had said, shooting something caught between a grin and a leer at the police officer. “But what I_ do _want to know is how the hell you guys ended up in such a bad state.”_

_Arthur had sat down next to Gwaine, eyeing the man. Finally, he spoke. “How much do you know about him?”_

_It had been said quietly, but Gwaine bristled, tensing, even though his face still held that dopey, placid expression. “I don’t know, princess, how much do_ you _know?”_

_Arthur had nodded for a moment, feeling a bit heady from the medication Gwaine had shoved down his throat – telling him to swallow and not ask questions. Finally, he spoke._

_“Enough.”_

_Gwaine had tilted his head then, peering at Arthur in a disarming manner, as though he were doing much more than just undressing the officer in his head. “Considering you're still alive, that must mean something.”_

_Arthur had sighed, thinking about the way Merlin had looked after he realized Arthur had come for him. The look on his face when Arthur had kicked him out, and then again when Arthur had ignored the sorcerer’s pleas and left him to the hands of Aredian._

_He swallowed, his head feeling airy and his mouth resembling stringy cotton._

_“I suppose it does.” The young Pendragon had said, wringing his hands together absentmindedly, not looking up, afraid of what he would find in his companion’s expression if he did._

_Because, yeah. It had meant something. Arthur had just been too stupid to see it._

 

_***_

 

Merlin woke up a day later.

The warlock had woken to pitch darkness, panic immediately making his chest tight and breathing shallow. For a moment he had thought he was back at Lakeside, and in a flurry had lashed out with his magic, blowing out a window.

He vaguely remembered shouting, Gwaine bursting through, gun in hand, Arthur right behind him.

He vaguely remembered being held, sobbing uncontrollably as he grabbed at Arthur’s nightshirt. The memories were so strong, so painful, so fresh and baring and naked –

Gwaine had merely nodded when Merlin let himself get carried into the living room, and had wordlessly handed the warlock a small, unmarked bottle of pills and glass of water.

Merlin had taken three, hands shaking, still refusing to leave where he was curled on Arthur’s lap.

The inspector had merely watched him, expression unreadable.

No one slept that night.

 

***

 

_The first time Merlin met Gwaine, he saved the man’s life._

_Merlin had been nodding off in a back alley, not a care in the world._

_Well, not a care in the world right up until he began to hear some bloke getting the living shit beaten out of him._

_If the warlock had been higher, had just shot up and was too numb to care, he probably would’ve just let it happen, maybe relocating. But as it was, Merlin was coming down, reality filtering back into his senses._

_So, he did exactly the worst thing possible. He stood up, and stumbled over to where a group of men was viciously kicking a figure, sprawled on the ground._

_“Oi!” He’d slurred, overestimating his ability to walk. “Oi, you! Whaddya doin’ over there?”_

_Merlin only belatedly remembered how smashingly horrible the idea of confront a gang of much bigger, angrier men, while still under the influence, was._

_While he’d been in the ER, Merlin had just so happened to get placed in a room with Gwaine – as the paramedics, when they got there, had assumed the pair knew each other._

_And well, that wasn’t precisely true at the beginning of that week of treatment. When Merlin and Gwaine were finally functional enough to get checked out, though – well, they might as well’ve known each other for ages._

 

_***_

 

Monday rolled around. Gwaine had to leave. ‘For a business trip,’ Gwaine had said, winking at the pair and tossing Merlin a small pouch. ‘Feel free to help yourself. I’ve seen enough to know that wounded magic is no little thing.’

Merlin had merely nodded, tucking the baggy into a pocket of a too-large jacket, avoiding Arthur’s eye contact.

“Merlin?” He’d said quietly, his brow furrowing.

The warlock seemed to be lost in thought, his face scrunched and body unconsciously hunched.

“Merlin.” Arthur said, a little bit louder, carefully putting a hand on the thief’s should and withholding a wince at the way Merlin jumped at the contact. “Is everything alright?”

Merlin had looked up at Arthur then, punching a breath from the inspector with the intensity of his gaze. “Yeah…” He bit his lip, obviously withholding something.

Arthur quirked a brow, sitting down on the couch, forcing the sorcerer to scoot over, else be crushed. “Alright, Merlin, spit it out. I hate to think of the mess you'll make, overexerting your brain like that.”

Merlin had scowled, his nose furrowing in a rather cute scrunch. But it only lasted a moment, and then the warlock was tentatively leaning on the inspector, tucking himself into the crook of Arthur’s elbow and the corner of his shoulder.

“I just –“ Merlin began, but then sighed, a long, weary thing, and looked around. Finally, his eyes traveled up to Arthur’s face. He swallowed, averting the eye contact.

“I just… I feel so tired.” And even Merlin could tell that it was a sad excuse.

Arthur sighed, readjusting the grown man currently crushing him. “When you want to talk about it, Merlin, I’m here.”

And that was that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so everything's getting more complicated! How exciting! Also, who doesn't love Gwaine?


	11. "Even the darkest night will end..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update! Let's just say life took a giant shit on me. As always, this is unbeta'd, so I'm sorry!  
> I hope you enjoy it anyway!

 

 

Merlin hadn’t exactly lied to Arthur – it was true, the warlock was tired, _so_ damn tired.

But he hadn’t told the inspector the entire truth, either. The truth that being at Lakeshore had taken more of a toll than he wanted to admit. The truth that Merlin didn’t know what to do now, or where to go from this point.

After all, even though Arthur finally believed the warlock – and even then, that trust was only preliminary, fragile and shaky – it meant near to naught now. Because Arthur had forfeited his power, his sway, his position, the moment he pulled the gun on Aredian at Lakeside. Even if Arthur trusted Merlin with his life, it would scarcely matter – because no one would trust _Arthur_.

Because as far as anyone was concerned, Arthur was officially a fugitive of the law.

“ _Mer_ lin, what did I say about you thinking too hard being a health hazard?”

Merlin’s head shot up, and he pinned a glare on Arthur, drawn from his reveries. “Are you always incessantly obnoxious or is it a recent trait that you’ve picked up since leaving the Force?”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it, his face turning into a small frown. “I suppose I did leave the Force, didn’t I?” He said, a bit softer, his sarcasm losing its edge.

And yeah, there it was. Out in the open. It was as though Arthur could sense what Merlin was thinking, read his from his actions alone, because then the officer was giving a small, affectionate huff and looking up from where he had been fooling around in the kitchen, eyes meeting the warlock’s. “Is that what’s been bothering you? That I’m out of a job?”

Merlin snorted. “Hardly, _sire_. You still are taking your job as an Official Prat very seriously.”

“ _Mer_ lin.” Arthur said, warningly even as a smirk threatened to overtake his expression.

The warlock sighed, looking around as though Gwaine’s shitty flat would hold the answers. “I – I guess that it has been a bit troublesome for me… you uh, losing your job and all.” Then the warlock sat back, crossing his arms and giving a huff.

Arthur leaned back against the kitchen counter; arms crossed as well, an unreadable look on his face as he watched his supposed enemy.

And wasn’t that a thought? Merlin bit his lip, not sure if he should even begin thinking about the whole tangle that was his life. Arthur and he had been on opposite sides for so long, Merlin always running, Arthur always chasing. Part of the warlock missed it, wished they could just go back to that, even if it set back his research by years. It was just so much easier to fall back into the swing of things that way. So much easier than what they had now.

And what did they even have now? Tension sure. A sort of dance between animosity and affection. One minute Arthur would been cold, callus, rude, distant – only to in the next breath offer comfort, even physical security in the form of a shoulder to lean on, or a hug to ground the warlock.

The logical side of Merlin knew that Arthur was just being Arthur; too invested in the well-being of others to ever actually find a deeper meaning behind his actions. It stung to think about it, but Merlin knew Arthur could never hold anything more within his heart –

_Arthur’s look of disgust and hatred as he shoved Merlin out of bed. The flush that quickly spread across the warlock’s cheeks, traveling down his neck and all the way to his bared chest –_

Merlin swallowed the lump growing in his throat, pushing down the memory and flush of embarrassment that accompanied it. He’d been a fool, drunk and not in the right mind.

If one thing was assured, though, it was that Merlin would never leave himself so vulnerable again.

Yet even as the thought crossed his mind, Merlin couldn’t help but follow Arthur’s movements with his eyes, and wonder if it wasn’t already too late.

 

***

  
_“Why do you do it?”_

_Merlin looked up, his eyes meeting Gwaine’s from across the table. They were in a diner, something old fashioned and cliché and looking like it belonged in an old American movie. Gwaine was nursing a fruity drink with 3+ types of alcohol in it, while Merlin nursed a diet coke, split lip and broken arm._

_“Why do I do what?” The thief echoed, feigning confusion and suddenly finding his straw exceedingly intriguing._

_“C’mon, mate,” Gwaine snorted, downing half the glass in one long gulp. “You know what I mean. Why do you subject yourself to all this? I mean, not to say I don’t doubt that the profits are good – after all, I get a cut from your sales and just look at how pretty I’m sitting – but…” And the smuggler paused, his face contorting as though he were unsure of how to continue._

_“But why do I do it?” Merlin finished, finally fixing his eyes on the man in front of him._

_Gwaine nodded, pursing his lips, a small frown on his face._

_Merlin sighed. “Would you believe me if I said it was for the money?”_

_Gwaine barked a laugh across from him, throwing his head back. “Merls, mate, I know for a fact that you donate nearly everything to bloody charities. You’ve had me transfer the checks more than once.”_

_“Worth a try.” The warlock muttered, taking a tentative sip of his drink._

_“So?” Gwaine prompted._

_“So what?”_

_“So, you haven’t answered my question. Why do you subject yourself to_ that _–“ the man gestured to the arm currently bound tightly to the warlock’s chest. “In the name of_ charities _?”_

_And that was a good question. A bloody good question that Merlin didn’t particularly know the answer to – or maybe didn’t want to. He’d searched for the reason, sure, at the tip of a needle and the bottom of a bottle. But sometimes, the things that are most crucial to a human being are also the most elusive._

_So instead of answering, Merlin merely shrugged, wincing at the pain, and took a sip of his coke._

_Gwaine got the message, and downed his own drink in turn._

 

_***_

 

Merlin and Arthur fell into a rather comfortable – if not tentative caricature of domesticity. Merlin would wake the inspector – much to the Pendragon’s chagrin – in the morning; shoving a cuppa into Arthur’s catatonic hands on the way to the kitchen.

Then, the pair would lounge about: watch TV, read a book, surf the web. (Arthur had had to eventually hide Gwaine’s spare computer, though, because every time Merlin got his hands on the thing, he ended up hacking places that the inspector hadn’t even known were _connected_ to the web.)

Both were recovering: Arthur’s stitched up side, Merlin’s shredded magic. And Merlin supposed it was nice, being around Arthur. The inspector wasn’t nearly as bad of a prat when he wasn’t getting choked by a suit collar. (Or at least that’s what the warlock thought his problem was. Either that, or a swarm of angry bees perpetually lodged up his asshole.) But as the days went on the thief was growing increasingly… restless.

It wasn’t as though Merlin hadn’t spent weeks, months – even, laying low, healing, ‘relaxing’…

It’s just, he hadn’t been so _sober_ for so long. And it wasn’t even that Merlin _wanted_ to be sober… it’s just, the events that followed the first time the warlock had tried to light Gwaine’s bong up… Well, let’s just say Merlin had bruises for days from where he’d been sat on by a particularly heavy _fatass_ , and Gwaine was out of a bong.

Merlin frowned at the thought, shooting a glare towards said fatass.

Arthur, seeming to thrive on Merlin’s eternal pain, merely looked up from where he was cooking (rather burnt) fajitas, and smirked.

Merlin squinted his eyes further, vaguely wondering if his looks actually _could_ kill.

If the way Arthur merely winked and then turned back to his work was anything to go by, then the answer was no.

Merlin’s frown deepened.

It wasn’t so bad, him and Arthur… the presence of another human was… nice.

The warlock had forgotten how nice it was, having someone around.

But just as soon as Merlin’s brain moved dangerously towards Thoughts He’d Rather Not Have, the warlock had to draw himself back. Arthur wasn’t staying like this, and neither Merlin. This was all temporary, and Merlin wouldn’t do to get too comfortable.

The only thing was… the warlock didn’t exactly know how long this would last. Every time Arthur had brought up trying something else… another approach… Merlin had blocked it off, changed the subject –

It was selfish, and thinking about it now only made the warlock flush a light pink. It wasn’t fair to Arthur, it wasn’t fair to Gwaine – actually, all of this was Merlin’s problem, his battle to fight.

And oh god, he was just bringing others down with him, wasn’t he? Letting his heart muddle everything and make a bloody mess.

Merlin swallowed at the second, stronger realization.

And then, he made a decision.

 

***

 

_After the overdose, Gaius had managed to get the warlock out of court-ordered rehab only through making the promise that the retired physician himself would watch the teen’s recovery._

_Merlin had watched from his old cot – now brought out from the drafty backroom and in front of the fire – as Gaius bustled around, a small frown marring his weathered face. And it was only then, as the old man groaned painfully in order to reach a bucket on the ground, hands shaking a bit as he cleared off yet another stack of books and vials, that it dawned on the warlock:_

_Gaius was getting old. Not just old – for yes, Merlin had known, Will had know… they’d known that their mentor and pseudo-father would someday pass. But the way Gaius’ hunch had grown so quickly over the years – gods, years! – it was not wholly natural. The old man wore the signs of stress, of a hard life and a painful existence._

_Instead of the strong physician Merlin had once known, the man now was withered, a tree whose branches finally broke in the gale._

_He was a man who had had everything in the world, and lost both of them._

_But then Merlin wasn’t able to read into it any further, let any more of the guilt well up and burst out of him, because his stomach was currently doing that exact job just perfectly, and the warlock’s world once again narrowed, paled, trailing on one subject: though this time, it was the bucket placed at the side of his cot, the cool hand on his head, and his body’s seemingly determination to destroy him, starting from the inside and going out._

 

_***_

 

_It was a week, then two, then three, and then Merlin was finally able to think properly, even though he really could go for a smoke and some vodka. But as soon as he began to think, he began to hurt. And hurt. And hurt._

_And hurt._

_And the guilt, it grew – budding and multiplying with every small act that Gaius forced his pained body to do for Merlin, with every memory of the past four years that surfaced, unwanted and uncalled for, in his mind._

_It was enough to make a weaker man go insane._

_It was enough that Merlin reacted in the only way he knew. As soon as the warlock was able to stand on his two feet, he packed a bag, wrote a note, magicked the door to lock behind him -_

_And then? Then he_ ran _._

_Three months later, Gaius came home to a thank you card, phone number and check for half a million pounds._

_A year later, and Emrys was trending on twitter, plastered on every news outlet available and credited for breaking into the Louvre._

_A month after that, and Arthur Pendragon was assigned a new case:_

_Catch Emrys._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are all THE BEST. Jfc. I love y'all so much, and hope everyone who reads this is having a good week, because you deserve it!
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> (ps, and guesses on what's gunna happen next?;)


	12. "...and the sun will rise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yes, this is Mature for a reason lmaooooo.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank Benjo for being there to //read over my shoulder// as I wrote this glorious, extra long chunk of sin. Thanks buck-o, you're a real pal.

 

 

Though neither man was much in the mood for watching the news, both Merlin and Arthur nevertheless were exposed to enough of it to know that even someone as powerful as Uther wasn’t able to hide the pair’s most recent turn for the criminal. (Not that Merlin particularly minded; after all, his name – or, well, Emrys – had been splashed across all sorts of media over the past seven years. Arthur on the other hand, though, was rather chagrin about the whole affair; which in turn led to Merlin conveniently flipping the channel whenever the inspector walked into the room.)

 

Gwaine had come back for a night, smelling of weed, alcohol and someone else’s perfume. The next morning, the same doctor, Edwin, had come and taken out Arthur’s stitches – pocketing another envelope from Gwaine as he left.

 

Then, the smuggler had announced that he would be leaving again, more business having come up.

 

Merlin gnawed on his lower lip, fumbling with the frayed edge of a jacket sleeve. “Wait, before you go – when do you want us to leave?”

 

And then the question was out there, hanging heavy in the air, stifling the room. Arthur stopped what he had been doing, having heard crystal clear what the warlock had said even over the din of his dishwashing. Gwaine paused too, giving the thief an odd cock of the head. A knowing glance.

 

“I told you before, mate: stay as long as you need.” Then the smuggler chuckled, ruffling the warlock’s hair as though he were a kid.

 

Merlin had only nodded, and the tension dispersing.

 

***

 

It happened that night. Of course it did.

 

Edwin, as grumpy as he was, nevertheless had muttered something about Arthur being healed enough for alcohol. Merlin, desperate for some sort of reprieve from his sober mind, had wordlessly grabbed a beer, handing one to Arthur as well.

 

The next thing Merlin knew, he was slightly buzzed, cuddled (inappropriately) against Arthur’s side, watching the man next to him more than the action movie on the telly.

 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, his voice low, vibrating through the inspector and into Merlin, setting his nerves on end.

 

“Hmm?” Merlin answered, acting as though he hadn’t been listening, as though he hadn’t been hearing every last breath that permeated the room, felt every last movement from the man underneath him.

 

Merlin swallowed the lump forming in his throat, forcing himself to concentrate on Arthur’s words.

 

“What are you thinking about?” And of course Arthur would ask such a loaded question. Merlin scowled.

 

“What do you mean what am I thinking?” The warlock frowned.

 

Arthur snorted shifting underneath Merlin, rearranging the pair so that the thief’s head was pillowed on Arthur’s lap. “Well, _Mer_ lin, it was a question that I assumed even you would be able to answer. Though of course, that was under the assumption that something was actually rolling around in that empty brain of yours.” The inspector flicked

Merlin’s head at that, making the warlock pout, rubbing the spot on his skull and glaring up at Arthur, who was now smirking down at him.

 

“Prat.” Merlin muttered.

 

“What did you say?” Arthur said, smirking down at the thief, poking the side of Merlin’s head.

 

“Oi! Get off, you prat!” Merlin chuckled, shoving the other man’s obnoxious hands off his face. He succeeded, Arthur’s hands finally leaving him.

 

“Much better.” Merlin muttered, settling down to once again watch the movie. A moment later he yelped, trying to jump up as hands dug into his ribs –

 

 _Tickling him_.

 

Merlin broke out laughing, cussing and squirming as he gasped for air. “Arthur – you fucking – “

 

“Say prat again Merlin, I bloody well _dare_ you.” Arthur chuckled from above him, digging his fingers into the younger man’s ribs with renewed vigor.

 

“Prat!” Merlin yelped out, trying to push Arthur’s hands off.

 

“Oh you’re in for it now!”

 

 

The movie had gone back to the menu screen, forgotten, by the time Arthur gave up, laying back on the ground, gasping for air.

 

“Merlin – urgh – get your fat ass off of me!” The inspector groaned out, glaring up at where Merlin was resolutely perched on top of him. Amazingly enough, at some point in the pair’s rough-housing, Merlin had managed to flip them, pinning Arthur to the ground.

 

“My ass is not fat.” Merlin declared, crossing his arms and pursing his lips.

 

“Fine, it isn’t. You have a very nice bum. Now get off of me, _Merlin_!”

 

“I’m not moving until you apologize for being such a clot – wait a minute?” Merlin frowned down at Arthur, shifting his weight so that his boney bottom was still very much digging into Arthur’s ribs, only at a different, though equally uncomfortable, angle. “You think I have a nice bum?”

 

“Eh? No.” Arthur said a bit too quickly, his face heating up.

 

“No, you said I had a _very_ nice bum!” Merlin grinned, victorious.

 

“I said no such thing.” Arthur said, pursing his lips in order to keep from grinning back at the fool on top of him.

 

“Liar!”

 

“Am not!”

 

“Are too!” Merlin stuck out his tongue, petulantly, expecting a taunt in return from the man under him. Instead, though, Arthur was oddly silent. The warlock looked down; brow furrowed, only to find Arthur staring up at him, an unreadable look on his face.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, suddenly feeling self conscious of the fact that he was pinning the other man to the ground.

 

“You know…” Arthur started, a light blush beginning to spread down his neck, the words seeming to catch in his throat. “You know I’m sorry, right?”

 

Merlin frowned, looking down. “You should be, tickling me like that. I trusted you –“

 

“No.” Arthur cut him off. “Not about that, you _idiot_. I mean for – for the first night that you and I –“ The blush was back, and now Merlin could feel his own face prickling at the memory of that night, unwanted and wholly inappropriate at the moment –

 

“I – I shouldn’t have thrown you out like that…” And then Arthur trailed off, his jaw working.

 

Merlin nodded, suddenly feeling naked even though he was fully clothed, suddenly feeling chilled even as the heating chugged along in the background.

 

If the shiver that moved through the body beneath him was anything to go by, then Arthur was feeling the same.

 

Merlin knew he needed to get off of Arthur, that he was a little drunk and crossing this line or that with every second that ticked past –

 

But Merlin never was good at listening, at doing the right thing at the right moment, and so of course, instead of getting up and going to bed like he knew he should do the thief instead leaned closer to Arthur, feeling the other man’s breath hitch.

 

“It’s alright, Arthur…” Merlin whispered, and god, did he look beautiful at that moment. “I could never stay mad at you.”

 

And Arthur opened his mouth to speak, to reply or maybe make a coy comment, or something, but then Merlin was _there_ and closing the last few centimeters between the pair –

 

And then he was kissing Arthur _fucking_ Pendragon.

 

***

 

 

“Arthur…” Merlin groaned, grabbing at the man before him’s shirt, balling the material hopelessly even as he was walked back towards Gwaine’s guest room. Arthur made a muffled noise in return, too busy shoving his tongue down Merlin’s throat to actually form proper words.

 

Not that Merlin was complaining. He was a bit too busy trying to stay upright long enough to make it to bed to actually form _complex thoughts_.

 

“God, Merlin…” Arthur groaned into Merlin’s mouth, his hands pushing up under the warlock’s shirt. Merlin shivered, stumbling a bit as his back hit the doorframe. Arthur took the opportunity to pin the warlock there, kissing him more thoroughly. His hands traveled up Merlin’s back, causing another groan to escape from the younger man’s mouth.

 

“Too – much – clothing.” Arthur panted out, trying and failing miserably to take Merlin’s shirt off. Instead, he only managed to get the warlock tangled up, sending him into a fit of laughter.

 

“W- wait a moment,” the thief chuckled, a flash of gold managing to free him from the knot that was his shirt. Arthur paused for a moment, that unreadable look on his face again.

 

“What?” Merlin frowned, pouting a bit at the distance between them.

 

“You really don’t realize how beautiful you are, do you?” Arthur breathed out, his eyes glancing down at Merlin’s bare chest for a moment, causing the warlock to flush, before traveling back up to meet his eyes.

 

“I – erm –“ Merlin began, only to be cut off by Arthur’s lips once again back on his, hot and pressing.

 

“Bed –“ Arthur managed between kisses, his hands running over every inch of the warlock’s exposed skin. “Now.”

 

And well, Merlin was too busy fumbling with the inspector’s (stupid) belt to complain. Finally, he resorted to disengaging Arthur’s mouth, instead muttering a simple spell that left both of them in nothing save their boxers.

 

“Ugh, god Merlin… that’s so hot.” Arthur groaned into Merlin’s neck, licking and biting lightly. Merlin was going to respond, something witty and sarcastic, or something like that, but then his thighs hit the edge of the bed and he was being pushed onto the mattress and all real thoughts left his brain.

 

“Merlin?”

 

“Hmm?” The warlock responded, looking up, a bit dazed, to find Arthur kneeling in front of him. Why was he –

 

A hand snaked up, grabbing the top of the warlock’s boxers – and ah yes, that made a lot more sense –

 

Merlin yelped when Arthur’s _cold hand_ (the bastard) grabbed him.

 

“You asshole - !” Merlin managed to choke out, the words catching in his throat as Arthur began to do a thing with his hands –

 

“Just wanted to make sure you were listening.” The inspector said, smirking as Merlin promptly became the human equivalent of a pile of mush under his ministrations.

 

The warlock wasn’t above letting out a small whine when the hand stopped, just short of release, and Merlin looked up to ask exactly who Arthur thought he was, leaving him hanging like that, but got side tracked because he was just in time to see a certain pink, kiss-swollen mouth descend onto his –

 

“Ughh…” Merlin bit his lip, his head hitting the mattress even as Arthur began to do a thing with his tongue and –

 

“Oh gods, _Arthur_!” The warlock shouted, his hands knotting in the inspector’s hair. How the hell Arthur managed to smirk around a cock in his mouth, Merlin would probably never know. But he did just that, making eye contact just in time for the warlock to stiffen, shuddering under the hands holding down his hips.

 

“Ugh, _fuck_. Get up here already.” Merlin gasped, pulling Arthur up in order to kiss him, groaning when he tasted himself on the other man’s tongue.

 

“Lube, Merlin.” Arthur groaned between kisses, his hands already reaching around the warlock, groping his ass. “Now.” He growled, sending a shiver through Merlin’s body.

 

“I’m – working on it –“ He gasped out, finally resorting to muttered spell that he had, well, perfected a while back, because he was lonely while on the run and all –

 

Arthur made a noise of surprise, pulling away in order to prop himself above the warlock. “Did you just –“

 

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed out, catching his breath. “Yeah there’s a spell for that.”

 

Arthur groaned, once again reaching a hand behind Merlin, a finger carefully probing the magically lube and stretched hole.

 

“Fuck me already,” Merlin whined, impatiently pushing back onto Arthur’s finger.

 

Arthur smirked down at the warlock, pausing for a moment to tease the younger man’s hole with his finger, managing to lightly bump the little knot of nerves that made Merlin jerk, groaning.

 

“Arthur – _shit_!” Merlin yelped, jerking again as Arthur began to stroke inside of him, smirking and splaying his hand across the warlock’s naked chest.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I swear to _god_ , Pendragon, if you don’t f – fuck!” Merlin groaned again, his dick making an effort to get half hard already, two fingers now moving inside of him.

 

“I’m sorry, _Mer_ lin, I didn’t hear that.”

 

“F- fuck you, p - prat.” Merlin groaned, his head hitting the mattress again, eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Well, if you insist,” Arthur said, chuckling, climbing up onto the bed and spreading Merlin’s legs wider. Carefully, the inspector lined himself up, slowly inserting himself in a way that had both of them groaning.

 

“God, Merlin…” Arthur moaned, stilling as he bottomed out.

 

“Jesus,” Merlin groaned, pulling the man above him down in order to snog the daylights out of him. “Move, already.” The warlock whined into his mouth, squirming a bit in a way that had them both seeing stars.

 

And Arthur complied, and finally – finally, began to move.

 

And then they were both lost in the action.

 

Arthur finally gave a shout, grabbing Merlin’s cock in order to pump it as well and sending the thief over the edge in the process.

 

It was only as the pair was drifting off to sleep, both spent and docile and sated, Merlin tucked into Arthur’s side, splayed on top of his chest, that the warlock really gave thought to the irony of their situation.

 

And even then, it was only a passing though – because before he knew it, he was asleep.

 

***

 

_The room was dark. Not in a way that any room ever should be allowed to be dark, though. Rather, this darkness was not an absence of light, but a presence of something else._ _Something far beyond the warlock, far beyond man –_

 

_It was alive, the Darkness. A creature from lands long lost, a world whose bridge long ago crumbled –_

 

_A world of magic, sorcery, dragons and kings. A world where demons were more than stories, and where man was not the biggest fear of a weary night traveler._

 

_The inky blackness moved, permeating the room, surrounding Merlin yet never touching him. It was a dream, he knew it was a dream, it had to be a dream, because he could scarcely move a finger, make a sound. The warlock knew he was asleep –_

 

_Yet he was awake._

 

_The darkness was moving now, though, dissipating from the path of another, deeper creature, long gone from this earth, no longer worshiped, no longer remembered –_

 

_“Emrys.”_

 

_And the darkness left, leaving the room bathed in the light of the newest inhabitant._

 

_“Emrys.” He said, and his skin was glimmering, moving like a mirage, as though it couldn’t very well decide on what form to take. There was a golden undertone to it; a faint, smoky aura surrounding him._

 

_“Kilgharrah?” Merlin frowned, watching the figure before him waiver. “How did you manage to reach me?”_

 

_“Young warlock, you have much to learn. You cannot block out your kin forever.” The man’s – dragon’s – face was blurred, as though seen through a foggy window, or smeared ink. “You tried to avoid your destiny, you tried to defy my council, and now look at what has come to pass –“_

 

_“There is no such thing as destiny, dragon!” Merlin interrupted, the words bursting from his lips, pulled as though by a cord from his inner depths. “And you are not my kin!”_

 

_“Dragonlord! How much longer will you stay in the darkness?” The dragon hissed, his form wavering, expanding for a moment, the shadows at the edges of the room expanding even as a faint burst of heat slid across the warlock’s skin. “You cannot change who you were born to be, or what path has been laid down for you to walk!”_

 

_“How many times do I have to tell you? Bugger off!” Merlin groaned, hands tangling in his hair as he grasped at his head. “Get out, you bloody manipulative lizard! Get out of my mind!”_

 

_The room began to shake, the edges dissolving and reforming, a wind whipping up, dragging acrid smoke, emitted from Kilgharrah, into the warlock’s space, choking his lung, watering his eyes._

 

_“You fool! Do not block me out!” The dragon was roaring, but the noise was getting too loud, the wind too violent, and Merlin couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate, except for on the foreign creature in his mind, burrowed into his brain –_

 

_“You do not control me, Dragon!” Merlin roared, straightening, the buzz of magic sparking across his skin, burning his irises. “As your Dragonlord I command you to leave my mind!”_

 

_And the pressure in Merlin’s skull grew, nearly unbearable, and he faintly heard a curdling roar as the figure before him was forcefully shoved, shifted, ripped apart, the darkness lurking in the corners and outside the shattered window coming up and gripping at the man – the dragon –_

 

_The pressure was too much and the blackness was growing, a creature older than time itself, coming to consume him too, to consume all –_

 

Merlin was jolted awake, shooting up in bed, gasping even as he gripped around for the lamp on the side of the bed, turning it on even as Arthur groaned from beside him, heart still going a million miles per hour, hammering against his chest –

 

The darkness in the room left; though Merlin knew well enough that it was only normal.

 

Only normal.

 

The warlock took a couple of deep breaths, swallowing the lump in his throat. Arthur grumbled at his side, and Merlin muttered a small apology, turning off the lamp. The thief moved left of center, into Arthur’s space, burrowing under the inspector’s arm, deep into his side, careful of the bullet wound.

 

Arthur hummed in contentment, and Merlin could’ve agreed –

 

Only, even as his breathing evened out, and warmth once again permeated his bones, Merlin couldn’t help but stay awake, sleep evading him, the dragon’s last words still echoing in his brain.

 

_You cannot escape your destiny, young warlock. After all, you’ve already given yourself to your King. Banishing me will do nothing now, Emrys._

 

_My job is already done._

Come dawn, the warlock was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I don't even know why it's surprising; I never can leave a chapter happy, can I? Sorry guys! I hope you enjoyed it and have a good weekend!  
> ( also this was my first try at explicit sex lmao so sorry if it was shit)


	13. Don Quixote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok big secret: I have no clue where this story is going lmao. I keep thinking up new twists and turns and well, this is the monster that this story has become! (Not that it's a bad thing... just, I'm wondering what's happening next just as much as the next guy!)  
> That said, god damn. This is becoming one giant-ass fic haha! Thanks for reading and sticking with me through all this! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

 

 

Merlin’s flat was just as he’d left it – if not a bit stuffier, dust filtering through the cracks of sunlight that managed to slip through the curtains. As the warlock moved through the space, his foot kicked a crushed beer can, sending it skidding into a pile of crisp bags and cigarette cartons.

 

Absentmindedly, the thief reached into his pocket, fingering the small baggy Gwaine had given him before he left the second time.

 

_“Gwaine, I can’t – this is too much –“ Merlin had said, looking at smuggler’s eyes, biting his bottom lip as the small baggy of pills was pushed into his hands._

 

_“Merlin, mate. You’ve done more for me that I could ever even begin to say. I – I was there, when you were… addicted. I know the risk you run doing this, taking these… but I also know you need them.” And then the smuggler gave Merlin such a look – burning, knowing, trusting –_

 

_It was overwhelming. Overwhelming, because Gwaine_ knew _. Merlin had been trying so hard to fight the shivers, the dry mouth and churning stomach. He’d been trying so hard to deny the withdrawal symptoms, had hidden them so well – at least he’d thought – from everyone._

 

_Gwaine leaned in closer, voice lowered, even though Arthur wasn’t there to hear him – had gone to take a shower, could even now be heard humming through the paper-thin walls of the smuggler’s rundown flat._

 

_“Merls, I’m not going to ask what they did to you there. I’m not going to ask what they drugged you up on, or whether or not you have a history with it. What I am going to do, though, is give you these, to clear your mind, help you along – you’re not done, after all._

 

_“No payment needed, a friend helping a friend. All I ask is that you don’t go and take them all at the same time, you bloody addict.” Gwaine chuckled at that, but then his face grew serious. “But really. Once this is all over, promise me you’ll… you’ll check yourself back in, right?”_

 

_Merlin couldn’t look him in the eyes, couldn’t bring his gaze up. Because in truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could – would – be strong enough to check himself in._

 

_If he would even be able to. After all, there was a chance – growing by the day – that Merlin wouldn’t be alive after all this._

 

_“Gwaine… I can’t make a promise I don’t know I can keep.” The warcock finally said, softly, scarcely breathing. Merlin finally was able to raise his eyes, look at the friend across from him._

 

_Gwaine’s face was unreadable. Yet he didn’t take the baggy back, didn’t retract his hand._

 

_Because he, too, knew._

 

_He knew that Merlin had been addicted to heroin, an opiate, for too long. He knew that going to Lakeside, they’d given the warlock something strong, something similar, a big enough dose for a long enough time that his body, it_ craved, _undoing all the hard work Gaius and Merlin had put into place._

 

_But Gwaine also knew that Merlin wasn’t finished._

 

_And so, instead of turning away, closing off at the lack of a promise, the smuggler merely drew Merlin’s hand up, silently folding the bag into his palm, and patted the thief on the shoulder._

 

_Merlin silently stood there, eyes trailed on the other man’s back._

 

_Watching him go._

 

 

_***_

 

 

Arthur was never a morning person – at least, not when he could help it. Of course, the inspector could easily pull long hours and early mornings if in the midst of a case. He was good at forcing himself to adapt, putting work first more often than not.

 

But at the moment, there was no case, and Arthur was quite comfortable, if not wishing Merlin would move over a bit, because even though he would deny it to his dying day, the Pendragon was actually a giant cuddler.

 

Frowning, though not awake enough to actually open his eyes, the inspector decided that he wanted Merlin close, _now_. Grumbling a bit, Arthur threw out an arm blindly groping for his lover. Only –

 

Arthur’s frown deepened and his eyes popped open. He turned over, scanning the empty bed, the noiseless bathroom, the clock on the dresser indicating how late in the morning it was.

 

Everything was as they’d left it the night before, even the clothing strewn across the room but…

 

But no Merlin.

 

Arthur shot up, ignoring the cold air on his bare chest, a sinking feeling pooling in his gut. Hissing as bare feet hit the wooden floor, the inspector quickly grabbed up his a pair of sweats from the mess of the floor, tugging them on even as he went into the bathroom – checking.

 

He felt his mouth going dry.

 

The Pendragon pushed the cracked door open, checking the kitchen before sweeping through Gwaine’s bedroom – but to no avail.

 

It was only when he was back in the bedroom, an odd, foreign pressure building behind his eyes because Merlin had rubbed off on him and made the Pendragon a gushy, emotional mess, that Arthur saw the note.

 

_Don’t follow me._

_Love,_

_Emrys_

 

And god, it was like a triple blow, the force of those scribbled words tugging at Arthur’s chest and sending him into the closest seat. Because… because it had been a long time. A long time since Arthur had dared open up to anyone, a long time since Arthur had felt so secure, so safe, so carefree and happy, even if it had only been for a couple of weeks, even if it had been under the background pressure of knowing that soon the other shoe to drop.

 

Because _god_ , he’d only really known the idiot for a month, yet Arthur knew with a deep, worrisome surety that he would do anything for Merlin.

 

And it was that realization, the knowledge that Arthur had had everything at tip of his fingers and let it all fall away again, that finally had the inspector bowing over, head in his hands, shoulders shaking quietly.

 

It was the first time since Morgana had died that Arthur allowed his walls to fall down, and cried.

 

 

***

 

 

Merlin had been a fool. Rash, rushing into Uther’s hands without thinking through a plan. And it had cost him dearly.

 

The warlock swallowed, gnawing absentmindedly on his bottom lip as he reached out a shaky palm to grab the neck of a lukewarm, half drunken beer bottle. He chugged it, downing it quickly and then shuffling through the mess of old bottles, ash trays and takeout garbage, looking for Gwaine’s baggy.

 

After a moment more of looking, shaky hands brought up the ziplock, and Merlin quickly grabbed a small handful, swallowing them dry and washing them down with beer.

 

A moment more, and his nerves were once again stilled, the magic that had been erratically pulsating under his skin ever since his release from Lakeside finally calming.

 

Ignoring the niggling voice at the back of his head, whispering guilt and shame and _‘what would Will think, going back like this?’_ , the warlock instead began to think. He needed a plan. Something stronger, more concise and assured to succeed.

 

Because Merlin didn’t have much to live for – Arthur not counting, because no matter how much his heart ached to climb back under the warm covers with that complete ass, Merlin would never let it become anything more. He couldn’t. Love, it was a luxury that someone with Merlin’s past, Merlin’s guilt and history and all his damned baggage couldn’t afford.

 

He couldn’t afford the possibility of further failure, of ruining the man he loved most (because yes, if Merlin let himself think such dangerous thoughts, it was in fact love). Not when the stakes were so high, and the mission so bleak.

 

No. Merlin would not dare bring Arthur into this any further – already having gone further than he should have the night previous. No, Merlin had forfeited all rights to emotional indulgence the day he buried William.

 

But just because he couldn’t have a future (because he refused to acknowledge Kilgharrah’s hogwash about destiny and fate as any such thing) didn’t mean others would have to lose that path. He didn’t want to acknowledge it – acknowledge the fact that every action of the past ten years had been chosen through the attempt to rewrite his past. Yet Merlin couldn’t deny it anymore; the reason he hadn’t curled up in some opium den and summon the veil of darkness once and for all was because _he had no right to_. It was in the thief’s power to change the future – if not for him, and his condemned soul, then for others. For the orphans that were as his own children, for the sorcerers who suffered silently.

 

If Merlin did nothing else, he at least needed to know he had done something, anything, meaningful for his kin before death. It was his cross to bear. It was his duty.

 

And so the warlock got up, walking over to the fridge and grabbing another beer, cracking it open with the thirst of an alcoholic back on his drink.

 

And then, seating himself in front of his beat up laptop, Merlin promptly began to plan.

 

Because if Merlin owed the world one thing, it was to at least an attempt to atone for his sins.

 

 

***

 

 

_“Merlin! Hush,” Gaius said, giving the young orphan a sharp look. Merlin pouted for a moment, before finally backing away from Will’s side settling back. “Much better.” The old man praised, a fond look crossing his face as he looked upon the two children before him._

 

_“Gaius  - Gaius! Can you tell us the one about the dragons again?” Will had piped up, a silly, toothy grin stretching across his face._

 

_“Oh yeah! I wanna hear that one too! Please, Gaius? Pleassssee?”_

 

_Gaius chuckled, easing back into his chair, situated in front of the roaring fire place. “Alright, alright, m’boys. I suppose I could tell it again…”_

 

_“Oh! Oh! Yeah!” Will exclaimed, Merlin chiming in as well. “It’s my favorite!”_

 

_The retired physician chuckled again, waiting for the pair to calm down again before speaking._

 

_“Long ago, when the world was still young and magic was still free, there lived a young boy.” Merlin and Will had gone silent, the latter’s mouth hanging open in awe, the former’s lips syncing along with the story. Even though they both had heard it a thousand times, neither ever grew tired of it._

 

_“This young boy loved the forest, and the land. He would travel all day, wandering among nature, traveling far from his village and arriving home late into the night._

 

_“The animals would accompany him, for they knew he was good at heart.” Merlin gave a small, proud smile at that part, as though he was the boy in the story._

 

_“The boy would talk to the animals, and the animals would listen, telling their own stories of adventure in turn._

 

_“One day, though, the animals of the forest came to the boy, worried. They spoke to him of a fearsome dragon, laying in wait far beyond the lake. Now the boy was a friend of the animals, and therefore trekked a day and a night in order to find this fearsome dragon – intent on sending it back to whence it came, armed only with a stick._

 

_“Only, when the young boy finally came across the beast, he realized it was not laying in wait, but rather wounded. Soldiers – knights of the king – had been ordered to hunt it, severely hurting the animal.”_

 

_At this point in the story, both Merlin and Will were leaning close, eyes wide, crowding nearer to Gaius’ knees – having scooted forward on the floor during the telling._

 

_The physician gave a fond smile before continuing:_

 

_“Now this boy was kind at heart, and even in the face of such a fearsome beast could not bear to kill. So instead, he trekked back to the lake and caught some fish, bringing it back as an offering to the wounded beast._

 

_“The dragon ate the dinner, grateful, even as the boy watched him from a distance._

 

_“ ‘Why do you help me, young human?’ The dragon then asked, his voice rumbling and smoky. The boy responded truthfully, saying, ‘You do not seek to hurt me, so I do not seek to hurt you.’_

 

_“ ‘Yes, but you could have just left me to die, young human.’ The dragon replied._

 

_“ ‘But why would I do that?’ The young boy had asked, confused in his naiveté. And it was then that the dragon knew he had found a kin in a human._

 

_“For days, the young boy kept feeding the dragon fish, and in turn the dragon told him stories of far off lands, and long forgotten powers. The boy listened, awed at the friend he had made._

 

_“But alas, at the end of seven days the dragon had not recovered, but rather grown weaker. He was dying, and knew it. So, on the eighth day, when the young boy came along with a string of fish, the dragon refused them, instead saying: ‘Young human, my chapter draws to an end. Even your kindness cannot save my wounded body. But as a parting gift, I wish to give you the power that such a kind heart deserves, for you are truly kin to the Dragons.’_

 

_“And so with his dying breath, the dragon spoke words older than the earth itself, in the tongue of the Dragons. And the young boy was filled with power unlike his druid and sorcerer kin. He could speak in the tongue of the Dragons, and could draw upon the elements at will._

 

_“And so, the first Dragonlord was born.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time, cheers!


	14. What the Water Gave Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sorry the updates have been a bit iffy, I'm just going through a hard time (kinda like Merlin :P ok I'm not addicted to drugs but you get the point lmao). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

 

Gwaine came back that evening.

 

Arthur had pulled himself together by then, a stony expression taking over his expression in a hauntingly similar manner to his father. He was hurting, that was true, but the inspector was above ever letting such a human emotion show.

 

Gwaine came jogging in the door, a large, loopy grin on his face and bag of takeout in hand, only to stop the moment he caught the look on Arthur’s face.

 

An unreadable expression crossed his face, before he asked, “Where’s Merlin?”

 

Arthur stood up, crossing his arms. “Did you know?”

 

The slight pause, flicker of Gwaine’s eyes, was all Arthur needed to know the answer.

 

The inspector nodded, jaw stiffening. “So that’s how it is, then.”

 

“Look, Arthur, I suspected. Merlin never was one to trust others with his plans, though –“ Gwaine began, his voice meant to be soothing.

 

“No, I don’t suppose he is.” Arthur cut in, surprised by the ice in his own voice. Gwaine didn’t attempt to speak any further, and Arthur soon left the room, knowing all he needed to. He was on the run, cut off from accessing his flat. But that didn’t mean shit the inspector at the moment. He couldn’t stand to stay another day in Gwaine’s flat. Not with the tension that had suddenly permeated the air, the unspoken darkness that descended.

 

Arthur silently pushed into the guest room, and began to pack.

 

Because god dammit, Merlin needed someone to save him from himself.

 

 

***

 

 

_The day they buried Will, it hadn’t been raining. It hadn’t been cold either, nor did the wind blow, or the heavens moan. Instead, it was a hot, humid day – stagnant, without a breath of wind, a second of reprieve under the sticky, suffocating collar of Merlin’s suit and tie._

 

_But of course it hadn’t been some cliché, dark affair. Nature was never one to mourn, and Merlin refused to believe he could make it such._

 

_So Merlin had stood there, next to Gaius and a couple of Ealdor’s staff who Will had charmed with his cheeky smiles and petulant attitude. He’d kept having to wipe at his brow, even as the first shovel-full of dirt was tossing into the hole, sweat and tears mingling into a snotty, disgusting mess on his face. The warlock’s sobs had been hitched, broken, muffled in the summer heat, the sound mingling with crickets and distant traffic._

 

_Gaius had stood next to him, stiff and drawn, like he was latched to the ground, held there by strings and wires and sheer force of will and age. He didn’t speak, didn’t cry – but the old man’s pain was evident enough in his vacant eyes and hunched shoulders._

 

_That night, Merlin packed a bag, slinging it over his shoulder, mind clouded with grief and guilt and the memory of hot dirt and sweat trickling down the back of his neck. It was well into the early hours of the morning when he crept down the creaky stairs of Ealdor, stopping when he rounded the corner to the kitchen._

 

_For there, seated in an almost regal manner, back stiff and face obscured by the shadows of the darkened room, was Gaius. Softly, his shoulders shook, haphazardly –_

 

_Crying._

 

_Gaius, immovable, unshakable –_

 

_Gaius was crying._

 

_Merlin had swallowed the lump in his throat, creeping back from the doorway before he was noticed._

 

_He considered for a moment staying, living as though nothing had happened. But the walls held too many memories, and the grief kept a choke-hold on the warlock’s throat._

 

_So Merlin did the only thing he seemed to know to do; he ran. No goodbye, no apology. Only the soft creak of the screen door as an indication of his cowardice._

 

 

_***_

 

 

_One morning, Merlin woke and he didn’t hurt. He didn’t crave, he didn’t ache, he didn’t shiver._

 

_One morning, Gaius came into the room, silent, face drawn and closed like an old set of blinds, cool towel in one hand, broth in the other. At seeing the warlock sitting straight, albeit tired, he’d given a soft smile._

 

_Merlin had returned it, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Nothing had reached his eyes for a long time, and the warlock sometimes secretly feared he’d somehow lost the ability to feel._

 

_“How are you doing m’boy?” The old man had said, the soft smile still there, and Merlin faintly wondered if Gaius truly meant it, if he was really so happy to see Will’s murderer like this. But then the moment of speculation was swept aside, for Gaius was still speaking._

 

_“- this should help with your continued symptoms, at least for now.” And a small cup was being pushed into Merlin’s pale, thin fingers. He downed it automatically, a curious reflex that the warlock had cultivated over the years._

 

_Grimacing only for a moment at the taste of whatever elixir Gaius had presented him with, the addict handed the cup back, leaning back in bed, exhausted by the small amount of exertion._

 

_Gaius had pulled up a chair, and was sitting in it now, looking at the warlock with an unreadable expression._

 

_Merlin tried to ignore the gaze, instead preoccupying himself by toying with the frayed edge of his shirt sleeve._

 

_“You know, I knew your mother.”_

 

_Merlin’s head shot up at this. The addict bit his lip, because Gaius was looking distant at the moment, as though he would snap out of it at any moment._

 

_He’d never mentioned Merlin’s mother before. Not her, not his father –_

 

_Merlin had always just thought his parents had been like Will’s – addicts, homeless, dead._

 

_“I never told you, I – I thought it would be better that you didn’t know…” Gaius said, his eyes still far off, the words choking in his throat now. “She loved you, you know. She and your father – they both loved you.”_

 

_And then a tear fell down Gaius’ cheek. “Hunith was her name. You wouldn’t remember her but – but she passed when you were five. The authorities, they said it was suicide. Said she had a habit, addiction, that she’d hidden from us. Overdosed on._

 

_“I don’t believe that is the case, though. You see, your father disappeared less than a year after you were born. Balinor was not one to run from marriage or parenthood, and anyone who spent more than an hour with the pair knew that he was madly in love with Hunith, and she with him._

 

_“But… after he left, well. Hunith began to search. It was harmless at first, and I must admit I even encouraged her. After all, Balinor was not the first to… vanish.” Gaius sighed at that, something weary and hopeless; the sound of a man aged long past his years. His eyes focused back in, and he looked at Merlin, giving a soft huff._

 

_“It had been years, though. I’d given up. After all, the world is a dangerous place for your father’s type. But your mother, she was so much like you… Brilliant, warm and kind and caring to the point of danger, and stubborn as a mule. She’d called me the night before… before she died, obviously excited, and upset. She had told me she found something. Something that would change everything, throw the world on its head. Said she would tell me the next day.”_

 

_And Gaius swallowed at this point, pausing to wipe the tears now silently slipping down his cheeks. “That was the last time I talked to my sister.”_

 

_***_

 

 

“You’re a fool.”

 

Arthur sighed, looking up at Gwaine, who was currently blocking the doorway. The inspector zipped his duffle bag, shouldering it. “And why would that be?”

 

“If Merlin doesn’t want to be found, then even God himself wouldn’t be able to locate the little devil.” Gwaine said humorlessly, still staring Arthur down.

 

Arthur sighed, stepping forward. “Well then what am I to do?”

 

“Leave him be.”

 

“And why would I do that? You know as well as I do that Merlin is not okay, out there, planning on doing god knows what that will probably get him killed –“

 

“Merlin doesn’t need you to protect him, _Pendragon_.” Gwaine cut in, icily. “I believe you forget that he had a few tricks up his sleeve that we mere mortals can only wish for.”

 

Arthur swallowed, looking away. “Y – you don’t think I know that?” He finally said, voice thin and strained. He looked at Gwaine then, his jaw stiffening. “I know that I can probably do nothing, that he doesn’t need me. But I – I can’t just let him go.

 

“Not like this… I need him.”

 

The last three words were whispered, out of Arthur’s mouth before he even knew it. Out there in the open, naked and exposed.

 

Because yeah. Arthur needed Merlin. Needed him like lungs needed air, leaves needed light.

 

Gwaine paused at this, his face unreadable.

 

But then the smuggler regained himself, shaking his head and chuckling.

 

Arthur bristled. “It’s not funny.”

 

“It really is, mate.” Gwaine chuckled. “To think that such a staunch old prick like yourself would ever be capable of _loving_ someone like Merlin–“

 

Arthur made a noise of indignation.

 

“Well, it really is something.” Gwaine sighed, the chuckle subsiding.

 

“Are you quite done?”

 

“Yeah. Well, no. I’m going to be laughing about this for quite a while yet. But… But I suppose you could use some help? That is, if you're really as stubborn as the papers make you out to be?”

 

Arthur scowled at this, but nodded his head. Gwaine gave another light chuckle before ushering him to follow.

 

“Now what were you planning to do, anyway? You know I meant it when I said Merlin disappears when he wants to.” Gwaine said, conversationally.

 

Arthur sighed. He hated to admit it, but he had no real plan. “Er, I was going to um, think of it while I went.”

 

Gwaine snorted, picking up a discarded beer can and sniffing it before shrugging and taking a gulp. “Classic. You have no bloody clue what you're doing, do you?”

 

Arthur stayed tactically quiet.

 

“Alright,” Gwaine sighed, turning to look at the inspector. “I know someone. He knows Merlin – really well, actually. But if I give you his information you better bloody well promise that you won’t go harassing the old man after this is all over, alright?”

 

Arthur nodded silently, watching as Gwaine scrounged around the kitchen, coming back a moment later, victorious, pen and paper in hand. Then, the smuggler scribbled an address and name on the paper, folding it before handing it to the inspector.

 

“Now take this, but don’t be too terrifying or anything, and for god’s sake, smile when you get there.” Gwaine said, chuckling. “After all, you wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the in-laws, would you?”

 

 

***

 

_One time, Merlin had dreamed of the ocean. Of the Atlantic, cold and steely and endless in its grandeur. He had dreamt he was nothing save a bystander, on the edge of the precipice, leaning over the cliff to watch the distant waves crash against stone and rock, slowly breaking the unbreakable, bringing the ageless edges of the earth to pieces, one jarring crash of icy foam at a time._

 

_Him, just a simple observer; a being in existence at the same, timeless moment as the sea._

 

_It became a recurring dream, when the warlock drifted off._

 

_Sometimes he was on a grassy knoll, gray skies stretching above him, endless and pulsating under the northern wind. The promise of rainfall, a tempest, on the air – the sound of the ocean, ancient and powerful, reverberating through the very earth._

 

_He would be home, at the edge of the earth, on the top of the cliff, wandering through knee high grass and listening to the heartbeat of the world, feeling but for once not minding the chill sinking into his bones. He was at home, at peace, his mind simple and the world meaningful because the only thing that had meaning was that small, delicate slice of ocean and land._

 

_Everything would be washed in grays and silvery blues and deep, brittle greens, and Merlin would understand, and accept._

 

_But then the warlock would awaken – he would always awaken. Not at the edge of the world, the end of the earth, the side of the ocean – but in a back alley, beard covered in frost, or in a crack house, curled up in a corner, or in a stranger’s bed, smelling of cheap beer and sex._

 

_And he would shake the image, grief crashing over him in an icy wave, and lose the moment. After all, he had never seen the ocean._

 

_But even then, Merlin would never forget it. Never shake it._

 

_Because only at the ocean was he ever truly at peace._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smh btw you guys are literally the best people ever. Shout out to silver hearted girl for literally being a good 43% of my motivation to actually write this haha - gurl, you're the bomb dot com, MVP. I hope you enjoyed this little slice of angst!
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> Peace


	15. "I'm not a leader of men..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been getting writer's block?? What??? 
> 
> Well, I finally got through this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy!

 

_In-laws._

 

Arthur swallowed, absentmindedly fiddling with the piece of paper in his hand while he waited for the old, beat-up door to open.

 

Merlin… had bloody in-laws.

 

How in the hell was Arthur ever going to explain this whole… _thing_ to Merlin’s _family_? Vaguely, the inspector wondered if it was possible for him to get a lead some other way, preferably one that didn’t involve explaining how he’d gone from hunting Merlin’s ass for a good seven years to a drunken one night stand to er – love.

 

Arthur automatically stuttered at that one, his mind stopping for a moment. _Love_. God, he was in so deep –

 

But then the door was opening, rusty hinges protesting at the use, and Arthur’s thoughts came to a sudden, crippling halt.

 

The door opened a whole of three inches, a chain stopping any further movement.

 

A single aged eye peaked through the crack, framed by white hair.

 

“And who are you?”

 

Arthur unconsciously licked his lips, his mouth suddenly too dry for him to properly form words. Thankfully (or, well, not) the eye seemed to register the (very recognizable) man at the door, because suddenly an aged brow shot up, and the man was sucking in a breath.

 

“I – I just remembered, I cannot take any calls at this hour –“ The man began, the door moving shut with alarming speed. Arthur yelped, shoving a hard hand against it – effectively stopping it.

 

“ _Wait_ – Gaius! Merlin’s in danger!” Arthur said, the words coming out more desperate than the inspector really wanted them to.

 

The man paused, and Arthur relaxed for a moment. But it was a moment too long, for the pressure he’d been applying ceased, and the door slammed shut.

 

Arthur stood there for a moment, mouth hanging open.

 

_Well, hadn’t expected that one._

 

But then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn, and the door promptly squeaked back open, Gaius standing a bit behind it, as though afraid an army were about to descend on him.

 

Arthur pursed his lips, realizing that at a different time that probably would’ve been a real concern. But then he pushed the morbid thought aside, nodding to the old man while walking into the stuffy flat.

 

To say that the flat was cluttered, well that just wouldn’t do the sheer magnitude of the mess justice. Every surface was covered in a hefty layer of books old and new, burnt down candles, beakers, pipes and other strange scientific instruments, bottles and jars filled with cloudy fluids and matte powders. Stray papers and what Arthur could only think to be parchment littered the ensemble, and the walls covered in newspaper clippings, chipped and peeling paint and old, with faded drawings completing the image.

 

“Well,” Gaius said, and Arthur turned around, trying to regain his composure after so openly gaping. “Out with it, Pendragon.”

 

His voice was harsh, closed. And for some reason, that stung Arthur more than any open verbal assault ever could.

 

Withholding a sigh, the inspector held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met, Mr….”

 

“You know well enough my name.” The old man cut in, eyeing Arthur’s hand with open distaste. “And I know more than enough about you.”

 

Arthur paused at that, withdrawing his hand. “I think there has been a change of events that, ah, would change your views.”

 

Gaius gave him a scaldingly cold look at this. “Well?”

 

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Merlin is in danger. Well, he's going to be, very soon, if we don’t do something to stop him.”

 

“I believe Merlin can take care of himself.”

 

“Well I don’t. Have you even met the fool?” Arthur cut, his temper flaring. “I need to know his plan or – or where he might be, or something – he needs to be stopped before he gets himself hurt!”

 

“And why ever would I want to give you information like that?” Gaius said, his eyes flinty in the dim light of the flat. “ _You_ , who hunted him like an animal for years! Chasing him like that, without a thought to his motive, his family, his history. Why in the _hell_ would I trust _you_?”

 

The last line was a little more than a hissed whisper, and Arthur swallowed the lump growing in his throat.

 

“Gwaine. He gave me your address. Surely you trust his judgment?”

 

“Gwaine is a swindler and a drunk.” Gaius countered.

 

Arthur’s shoulders slumped, the air pushing from his chest as his walls crumbled.“I – I love him. That’s why you should trust me. Just, please. I love Merlin, and god, if I could take back every time I hurt him, I would – but, but now, I cannot stay here and waste any more time if you’re not willing to help me, because every minute spent here is a minute closer that idiot is to doing something – something _horrible_. I just know it. Something horrible and self-sacrificing and stupidly, idiotically –“

 

Gaius held up a hand, and Arthur snapped his jaw shut mid sentence. He hadn’t realized he’d been going on but –

 

But Merlin just brought that type of thing out of him.

 

Arthur bit the inside of his mouth, else something even more incriminating and embarrassing come out.

 

Gaius merely eyed him for a moment, his eyebrow hitched up in skepticism. Finally, some of the tension seemed to dissolve from the old man, and his face softened. With a sigh, he spoke:

 

“Arthur, is it?”

 

The inspector numbly nodded, uncertain about what change had just taken place.

 

“Merlin is everything I have left, now. The closest thing to a son a man my age could ever hope for.” He paused then, an unreadable look crossing his face. “I trust you. Only because I knew your mother, and I doubt a child of hers would ever do anything less than acts of love.”

 

Arthur swallowed thickly at this, fighting the urge to interrupt and pump the old man for information on Ygraine. Instead, he numbly nodded.

 

Gaius continued. “I… I believe I know of a place. If not Merlin’s own flat, then a house he used to – ah – frequent.

 

“If you’ll give me a moment, I have address somewhere around here…” And the old man bowed his head then, slinking past the young Pendragon to go shuffle through one of the many stacks of books and papers spread around the room.”

 

Not knowing what else to do, the inspector shoved his hands in his pockets, drifting over to a wall to get a closer look at the papers decorating it. Newspapers, he realized, faded and old and cut with meticulous care.

 

The inspector squinted at them, then started.

 

**Louvre Raided by Emrys, Fountain Destroyed in Ensuing Race**

 

The memories of that day flashed in Arthur’s memory, startlingly surreal. The next headline was similarly themed:

 

**Mob Boss Jailed, House Broken Into**

 

And the next:

 

**Inspector Pendragon Once Again Left High and Dry in Beach Burglary Incident**

 

And so on. With a numbing clarity, the inspector realized all the clippings were about _Merlin_.

 

“I’m proud of him.” Arthur jolted, turning around to see Gaius a few feet back, slip of paper in hand.

 

“For grand theft?” Arthur automatically retorted, snorting.

 

“For doing what he thought was best.” Gaius corrected, shooting Arthur a disproving brow raise.

 

Arthur paused, rightfully cowed, and Gaius continued. “Anyway, he scarcely ever was able to find the time to write, let alone call or visit, so this… for a long time this was the way I kept track of him. Made sure he was alright…”

 

The old man trailed off. But only a moment later he regained himself, eyes focusing back in on Arthur. He gave the inspector a soft smile, then.

 

“Ah, yes. Here. I would suggest you try both these addresses, the first one is his usual flat. The second one… Is where he will be if his strength has failed him.”

 

Arthur vaguely wondered what the old man could mean by such a cryptic statement, but quickly brushed it off, instead taking the slip of paper in hand.

 

“Thank you, Gaius. I will try my best.”

 

Gaius gave a sad smile, leading Arthur back to the door. “Your best, m’boy, is all I’ve ever asked for.”

 

And for some reason, Arthur got the feeling as though he was far from the first Gaius had said that to.

 

 

***

 

 

_Merlin sniffled, wiping a small hand uselessly at his tear streaked face. Gaius sighed, opening his arms wordlessly, making a small motion for Merlin to come along already, get over here._

 

_The orphan hiccuped a moment, biting his bottom lip for only a moment before running over and folding himself into the old man’s arms. His arms were small, scarcely able to reach around the old man. Nevertheless, He managed, though – shoving his face into Gaius’ robes in the process._

 

_A few moments passed, and Merlin regained himself. Pulling his face away in order to look up at the old physician, the young warlock said, “G-gaius, am I a freak?”_

 

_There was a sharp intake of breath, and Gaius raised his eyes from the young orphan clinging to his robes for a moment. Finally:_

 

_“No, Merlin. Don’t you ever believe that. You're gifted, and it is a beautiful thing. But sometimes beautiful things must be hidden, as some people could not understand – and might mistaken that beauty for danger.”_

 

_There was another sniffle, then Gaius felt Merlin nodding his head, if not reluctantly. Then,  a moment later:_

 

_“G-gaius?” It was scarcely above a whisper, and so very fragile._

 

_“Yes, m’boy?”Gaius responded, still returning the warlock’s hug._

 

_“Why am I… like this?”_

 

_And that was quite the loaded question, wasn’t it? How does one tell an eight year old orphan that it was his father – that he was the cause of all these ‘gifts’? His father who was long gone by now. How did Gaius go about telling Merlin all he wanted to know? All the information that could either make or break the warlock’s will?_

 

_Should he even say anything? Dragonlords were no longer needed, all the dragons having long ago died out. Sorcery was a myth, let alone being a warlock – to tell Merlin would only lead him to seek others, and therefore possibly trouble._

 

_But on the other hand, if Merlin did not know, then he would forever stay on the fringes – an outlier, a freak… a monster._

 

_Gaius swallowed thickly, carefully pushing away from the warlock before kneeling in front of him. Truths were still warring within him._

 

_“Merlin, what do you think you are?”_

 

_Merlin sniffed at this, wiping a dirty hand across his face again. “Will said he thought it was… kinda cool.”The warlock replied reluctantly. Gaius had been upset when he found that Merlin had showed his powers to Will. Furious. After the initial row, though, the pair had carefully stayed away from the topic._

 

_“I suppose Will isn't wrong.” Gaius started, giving a fond huff of exasperation at the naivety of the pair. “But Merlin, there is a name for you. For people who can do what you do. And I believe you are old enough to know about it.”_

 

_The tears had stopped fully, and now Merlin was looking up at Gaius with thinly veiled awe._

 

_“You, Merlin, are quite close to a sorcerer. A person who can control magic, impose their own will upon it.”_

 

_“Quite close?” Merlin frowned, his small brow puckering in confusion. Gaius smiled at this, nodding._

 

_“You are more, m’boy. You are a creature of magic, magic itself. A warlock. Stronger than a sorcerer, more powerful._

 

_“Though, with this power comes much responsibility. For because you are magic, your magic is linked to you – your thoughts, emotions… Everything.”_

 

_Merlin swallowed, looking cowed, and a little bit shy. “You mean, you mean there are others out there?”_

 

_And there was the loaded question. “Yes, Merlin. There are. But they will not be apparent, and you should do the same. It is not a safe world for a sorcerer, m’boy.”_

 

_And Gaius had to stifle any further words from coming out, instead watching the boy before him’s whirl-wind of falling emotions._

 

_He sent the warlock off to his room soon afterwards._

 

 


	16. "A man can be destroyed..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got super slammed last week so this update was pretty slow.. sorry about that! (also, this is unbeta'd, so again sorry if there's any glaring errors!)

   


   


The book was old. The binding was coming apart at the edges, the cheap plastic cover scuffed, worn and even ripped in one spot.

   


The warlock opened it with the softest of touches, fingers carefully peeling the stuck pages apart. The front page had a picture – for it was a photo album – of a woman in a white gown, smiling as though the stars had just been hung for her, eyes brilliant and joyous even under the faded film of old age. In her hand was a bouquet. At her side was a man – charming, smiling just as brilliantly, with a trimmed beard and dated suit that actually, considering the age of the album, was probably quite smashing at the time.

   


The pair was in front of an altar.

   


Underneath the photograph, a large, looping calligraphy script read:

   


_The Wyllt Wedding: A joining of Balinor and Hunith Wyllt_

   


Merlin swallowed past the lump in his throat, ghosting fingers across the faces of the happy couple.

   


Inside the album were similar photos of first the pair’s wedding, then everything from their first house, high school prom, first dog (affectionately named Aithusa) and –

   


Merlin paused, his fingers holding the photo, years later, of – of –

   


Of _Merlin_. In his mother’s arms. In this photograph, Hunith looked exhausted, hair stuck, sweaty and dulled to her face and neck. She was reclining in a hospital bed, Balinor to her left looking both overjoyed and nauseous.

   


But what the warlock’s eyes always ended up landing on in the picture was him, scarcely more than a bundle of cloth and shock of black hair, held snuggly in his mother’s arm, fast asleep.

   


Both Hunith and Balinor’s eyes were on the small bundle, and even through the fading and what appeared to be decade old coffee stains, their looks of love and _happiness_ were self-evident.

   


 Merlin bit his bottom lip, having to pull himself away from the yearning that began to well up in his gut, away from the immense sadness and resentment at the future that could’ve, would’ve, _should’ve_ happened.

   


The future that had been pulled from him. Taken before he could fight for it. And not only him, but all the other men, women, children of the magical community –

   


Merlin sighed, closing the book with a soft snap.

   


It was too late for any regret. Far too late.

   


Looking out the smudged, faintly fogged window of his flat at the softly falling rain, the warlock faintly wondered what else it was too late for.

 

   


***

   


_Merlin would forever remember the day Gaius had given him Hunith’s scrapbook._

   


_It had been weeks since he’d detoxed, purging the drugs from his veins and the cobwebs from his mind._

   


_He was able to stand, now, and had been getting restless – walking around the retired physician’s small flat with thinly-veiled discomfort._

   


_The detox, the sobriety, the constantly resurfacing, unwanted memories, hearing the truth about his parentage, about Gaius’ relation to him – it wore on the warlock more than he cared to admit. Further, being alone some days, considering that Gaius was still pulling part time shifts at Ealdor, only led to more mixed emotions._

   


_He didn’t like them – emotions. For so long Merlin had worn the emotions forced on him by drugs, alcohol, sex, that now feeling the full force of them left the warlock near-well winded._

   


_Uncertain and crawling in his own skin._

   


_Merlin shivered, watching snow falling softly through the fogged window pane. In the fireplace a cheerful fire burned away, ignorant of the world around itself, content in the turmoil and destruction that was inherently the act of burning._

   


_Vaguely, the fireplace, so bright and timeless and cozy, drought up old memories. Memories that, too, were dangerous. That Merlin had spent many, many days and nights running from._

   


_Memories of nights spend in front of that fireplace in a pile of blankets with Will, Gaius having taken ‘pity’ on the orphans, having let them sleep over._

   


_Same fire, same fireplace, same throw rug in front of it – if not a bit more worn, unraveling around the edges._

   


_Merlin shivered involuntarily at the memories._

   


_“Merlin, m’boy. Did you have enough to eat?”_

   


_Gaius. He pulled Merlin from his thoughts, distracting the warlock from the train wreck that was his mind._

   


_“Mmm, yeah. Thank you, by the way. It was delicious.” Merlin responded, only half listening, half watching the snow fall and the fire flicker and reflect against the window’s glass. Gaius had had to go in earlier that night – around dinnertime – to help a child at Ealdor who’d gotten sick._

   


_He’d left a hastily scrawled note about dinner in the fridge for the napping warlock to find. Merlin had found it, even popped it in the microwave – but he’d barely touched the soup, too nauseous to eat._

   


_Not that he’d worry Gaius with that knowledge._

   


_There was a sigh from behind him, and Merlin could hear the old man moving around the cramped flat, moving this and that about._

   


_A moment later, the retired physician resurfaced – book in hand._

   


_“M’boy, could you come over here for a moment? I believe we need to have another… talk.”_

   


_The warlock turned at this, nodding solemnly and absentmindedly picking at the edge of his sleeves._

   


_It was habit he had picked up since being clean. His fingers were twitchy, his mind restless, his body constantly in need of motion, movement. Merlin was uncomfortable in his own skin, everything clammy and crawling and too sensitized to leave him anything but fidgety._

   


_Waking himself from his daze, the warlock moved to sit across from the old man._

   


_Gaius pulled up a book. The edges were buffed, the pages were starting to show signs of wear, it even had a tear._ _“This book… It was your mother’s.”_ _Merlin swallowed heavily past the lump in the back of his throat, nodding as Gaius silently pushed the scrapbook into the warlock’s hands._

   


_He didn’t realize his fingers were shaking until he very nearly dropped the thing trying to get it open. Steeling himself, Merlin tried again._

   


_Gaius watched a moment as a line of emotions ran across the warlock’s face. Then he spoke._

   


_“I have to say… I have not been wholly truthful with you. Or rather, I have withheld information from you for what I thought was the sake of your safety. Only now, though, do I realize that it was wrong of me.”_

   


_Merlin’s head shot up at this, his fingers pausing from where they had been tracing his mother’s faded face. Gaius had an unreadable look on his face._

   


_No, not quite unreadable. Merlin could spell the tell-tale lines of guilt and regret. He looked away._

   


_“You are a warlock.”_   


   


_“I know…” Merlin mumbled, letting some of his own guilt and misery surface._

   


_Gaius huffed, giving a sad, small smile. “You are a warlock, m’boy. But that is not the only reason you are so unique.”_

   


_Merlin frowned at this, his eyes glued to the picture of his mother and father on their wedding day. “What more could there possibly be?”_

   


_A pause, then:_

   


_“Have you ever noticed how easily it is for you to connect to nature? How creatures always were drawn to you, and the weather always seemed to fit your mood?”_

   


_“Coincidence.”_

   


_“No.” Gaius paused, and Merlin looked up to meet the old man’s eyes. “Not a coincidence.”_

   


_“Gaius, what are you trying to tell me? What are you keeping from me?” The warlock pleaded, licking his suddenly dry lips. Wanting to know but also hating the thought of uncovering another, uglier layer of himself in the process._

   


_“M’boy, do you remember those stories I used to tell you and Will?”_

   


_And Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, because yes, he did. He remembered the stories, his love for them, his love for the young boy who did so much good._

   


_But he also remembered the dreams he would have, drunk and high and nodding off. The dreams of an ancient, ageless voice, glinting golden eyes, the flap of wings._

   


_Visiting him, talking to him, pleading against his addiction, claiming fate and destiny. Merlin had thought it was a subconscious wistfulness for a better future. For a purpose. He wrote the reoccurring visions as his mind picking through his past, dredging up the memories of Gaius’ stories, the affection and love that Merlin had had for the unexpected hero, for the mysticism and whimsicality of an age of dragons and knights and kings._

   


_The dreams, though, were not dreams._

   


_Gaius didn’t seem to notice Merlin’s stutter, the addict’s dawning realization. Instead, his continued speaking, his voice leveling out a growing strength._

   


_“You, m’boy, are a Dragonlord. The last, to be exact.”_

   


_***_

   


The realization had been a painful one. Unwarranted, unwilling. _Dragonlord_ , Gaius had called him.

   


_Kin_ , Kilgharrah had echoed, his eyes assessing and prying.

   


Willing or not, Merlin had been forced to meet the heritage he had been avoiding for so long head-on, the weight of destiny and lineage colliding in unwarranted, unwanted dream-meetings. Kilgharrah had come to the warlock, soon after Gaius’ revelation. He spoke of future and past and destiny and unimaginable power. Had called Merlin by a name he would soon come to know, to loath.

   


_Emrys_.

   


Merlin had been naïve, then. Fragile and uncertain, only knowing that his parents had died in an unspoken war. Kilgharrah had known that too, had preyed on it, picking at the wound and manipulating the sorcerer.

   


Merlin had realized it, albeit belatedly. In a fit of rage he had thrust Kilgharrah from his dreams, slamming the metaphorical door and throwing all the bolts. He’d renounced his heritage, being a Dragonlord.

 

   


But that had been years ago.

   


Now, as Merlin looked out the window of his flat, eyes tracing the smudged figures making their way along the street, his mind wandered. He’d denied himself for so long, his parentage, his powers – and for good reason, too. It had only ever led to pain and agony.

   


But all this time… Merlin had had the power to change the present, to change the future. The power to free all creatures of magic, if only he _used_ it.

   


The warlock felt something, a weight, in his chest release at the realization. The formation of a plan, a thought, an idea. He was a Dragonlord, magic itself.

   


He was Emrys. It was about time he acted like it.

   


Resolve strengthened, Merlin set his shoulders and stepped back from the window, brain churning. He grabbed his jacket, wallet and half a pack of cigarettes, shoving one between his lips, to take an edge off his nerves.

   


He lit it with a quick flash of gold, wincing only slightly at the frayed feeling of his magic. Taking a drag, the warlock looked around the room, absentmindedly maneuvering into the jacket.

   


Merlin made for the door, pausing for a moment while taking a drag. He hesitated, then turned around and began to root through the mess covering the kitchen counter, coming back with a crumpled notepad and pen.

   


He scribbled a quick note, stubbing out the cigarette on an old takeout carton when he finished. Looking around the room one last time, Merlin gave a small sigh.

   


But it couldn’t be helped, and he’d wasted enough time as it was.

   


Without another word, the Dragonlord left.

   


 

***

 

   


Arthur took the stairs two at a time, cursing the broken elevator under his breath. The sheet of paper Gaius had given him was crumpled in the inspector’s fist, and determination had the Pendragon skidding around the corner as he reached the right floor.

   


Scanning the corridor, the inspector cursed when realized belatedly that he’d taken the wrong turn. Back tracking, Arthur skidded to a stop in front of a worn wooden door, the numbers long ago having rusted into place next to the peephole.

   


He knocked, smoothing down his hair absentmindedly. No reply, so the inspector knocked twice, thrice more times, but to no avail.

   


Arthur cursed under his breath, a sinking feeling in his gut. Patience having run out, he stepped back, kicking the door in.

   


The wood of the frame splintered easily.

   


The room was silent, dusty and a complete and utter mess.

   


Arthur entered, closing the broken door behind him, taking in the old takeout boxes, cans, bottles, cigarette butts and other various articles of trash scattered around the room. A sheet of paper was laid on the counter, the space around it cleared in a manner that made it starkly stick out.

   


His bad feeling began to grow as Arthur picked it up, scanning the lines quickly.

   


And then the inspector was whirling around, tearing off the sheet with the note and heading for the door.

   


He’d just missed Merlin, but damn it if Arthur was going to give up on him.

 

   


   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise! This chapter is the last filler for well, the whole fic haha. The end is in sight, and it's much closer than i expected!


	17. "... but not defeated."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updates have been so slow! Yikes! It's probably got something to do with the fact that I don't particularly want this story to end. Hmm. Well, lateness aside, I hope you all enjoy this! As always, this is unbeta'd :P

Merlin had made a lot of mistakes in his life. Done a lot of things he was not proud of, and tried for a long time to bring back those who were already damned, already gone.

 

He was a man consumed by guilt, and drawn inherently to death and self destruction. He coped with the world he had created by tearing it apart piece by piece. When Gaius had told him of his true powers, the warlock had scoffed, then mourned the fact that he had been gifted with such might when surly there was another better suited to wield it.

 

When Kilgharrah had come to him, first in dreams and then in reality, Merlin had been drawn into the dragon’s grasp. Thirsty for a drop of meaning in his existence, he listened with baited breath to the ancient kin’s story: that of magic repressed, of sorcerers tortured and manipulated and murdered, all for the good of non-magics.

 

Merlin had listened at first, had grown angry in his own right – because it was true. Sorcerers _had_ been disappearing. Merlin knew that. Kilgharrah had blamed all men, though, and the dragon had tried to thrust his warped hatred for mortals – innocent and otherwise – onto the warlock.

 

Merlin had nearly followed the scorned dragon, had nearly let his soul become fully consumed by hatred, by anger, by guilt.

 

Gaius, though, had been there. A loving father even to the murderer of his own son. A guiding light even in the darkest of hours.

 

At the end of the day, Merlin owed everything to that man.

 

It had been hard, but Merlin had finally found a way to exist. He’d left Gaius’ care and guidance. Found purpose in doing the only thing he knew himself to be good at – theft. Had used the money taken to fund his search, used his career as a thief to disguise the warlock’s real hunt for the disappearing sorcerers.

 

It had taken years. Years, and what? Merlin had been so close to destroying Uther’s establishment. He’d been inside it, for fuck’s sake – only to get sidetracked, to let his emotions get in the way, blurring his purpose when his goals were so, so close.

 

So close, and Merlin had let it slip away.

 

Now, though, the warlock needed to finish it, once and for all. Uther’s purpose, though muddled and uncertain, was nevertheless rooted in his innate belief that sorcerers and magic did not belong in this world. That panic and chaos and death would certainly come about if the general populous knew of magic.

 

So he weeded them out, plucking magic users silently from the population. That much Merlin knew.

 

The sorcerers left – well, they hid.

 

Absurdly, Merlin had believed that his stunt at Westminster would bring them out – seeing another magic user so openly displaying his abilities. But the warlock had underestimated Uther’s sway. The papers had called his abilities a setup, a hoax, smoke and mirrors and well placed explosives.

 

And the public had bought it.

 

And that – well, that put the Dragonlord back at square one.

 

Well – it had. Now, though, Merlin was prepared. He was ready to face Uther’s silent tyranny.

 

He would not get distracted again, and he would not fail – else die trying.

 

 

***

 

_Arthur’ childhood had been a vacant one. Uther was never a man to love, and Arthur had been taught from a young age to not expect to receive. Nannies and sitters and tutors came and went, shoving various levels of interest in the young politician’s son._

 

_Arthur had learned from a young age to bottle up his emotions, to distance himself from such petty things as feelings._

 

_For years, it had worked. Even when he left Uther’s oppressive mansion, the officer had never once let his guard drop, let his heart get the best of him. It had become an art, almost, and Arthur had near-well perfected it._

 

_But then Merlin had to stumble into his life and fuck it all up, tossing everything he had worked for straight to hell. Even from afar, Arthur couldn’t help but find some form of care for the thief Emrys. In his methods, his coy attitude and sly jabs at the men he robbed._

 

_Of course, Arthur would deny to his dying day that he’d ever admired the same man he hunted._

 

_But… it had been there. A small crush._

 

And now? Now, Arthur didn’t  know what to think, what to feel. Some small, logical part of his brain kept saying that the officer was madly in love, too far gone to do anything save follow Merlin, wherever he might go.

 

Another, louder part of the inspector’s brain pointedly ignored that fact – mainly because the consequences of such a sudden, underlying connection would do horrible, horrible things to Arthur’s deep-rooted trust issues.

 

So Arthur pointedly ignored his reason for pursuit, and instead was currently stopping at a small corner café, absentmindedly shoveling their soup and sandwich of the day into his mouth. He hadn’t slept in over a day, having been too busy abusing the Yard’s face identification technology in an attempt to track Merlin’s stupid, bloody face.

 

So far, though, the inspector had come up fruitless, just like the old days.

 

Evidently, the warlock was up to his old tricks.

 

Absentmindedly, Arthur snorted at the thought. Leave it to Merlin to cheat using magic. The realization that many, many of the thief’s narrow escapes were rooted in magical shortcuts only did so much to comfort the inspector’s ego; mainly due to the fact that his competitive side was unbelievably cowed and generally pissy at the realization that without magic he would’ve had Emrys caught a long, long time ago.

 

Yet… Arthur couldn’t bring himself to wish that such had happened. Because things, as complicated and frankly dire as they currently are, would nevertheless probably never have arisen otherwise.

 

Ah. And there was that stupid, emotional side of him again.

 

Arthur scowled, shutting down that line of thought before it messed with him even further. Instead, the inspector brought his attention back to the program running across the screen of his laptop in front of him.

 

Still nothing.

 

Arthur frowned, turning his attention back to the half eaten meal to his left, startling a moment later when he heard the name ‘Pendragon’. Turning in his chair, the inspector caught site of a small TV on the counter of the café. On it, grainy yet still recognizable, is none other than Uther Pendragon.

 

The announcer kept speaking, going on about the illness affecting the Queen and how the elder Pendragon would be reading the Queen’s speech in her absence. An honor – a rare one, too – to be able to speak at the State Opening of Parliament.  

 

Arthur paused a moment longer, eyes trained on his father’s visibly aged face. Uther had never been a young man in Arthur’s eyes – stress from politics made sure of that. Yet he looked older, so much older, now.

 

And maybe it wasn’t just because the man had actually aged. Maybe it was Arthur’s mind merely seeing the man in a different light.

 

After all, it had been quite the revelation, what Uther had been doing all this time at Lakeside.

 

And there it was again – confusion. The inspector never truly hated his father, not really. Even if his bigotry had gotten the better of the pair’s relationship, Arthur couldn’t help but think that if not salvageable, the man was at least good at heart – or in his own mind.

 

But then Merlin had stepped into the scene, had fucked everything over and pulled all the stops out, ripping the curtain aside, revealing Uther’s darkest dealings.

 

And now – now Arthur didn’t know what to think. Uther was so much more than he’d originally suspected him to be. It was disorienting, and somewhat painful – knowing that a man so close in heritage was doing such evils.

 

Arthur swallowed the lump threatening to form in his throat, looking away from where Uther was currently waving at the crowd, his face a professional smile – just the right ratio of lips and teeth.

 

The inspector took a sip of his lukewarm tea, hand absentmindedly tugging the beanie down on his head. He’d been sitting in the corner of this café for a couple of hours now, and though he’d been pictured in the papers and on the telly numerous times before, Arthur doubted a regular café-goer would recognize him.

 

Though there still was a chance of recognition – the Pendragon being a fugitive of the law and all now.

 

Arthur huffed out a sigh, glancing down at the fruitless search still running across his computer screen. The thing that concerned Arthur the most was that if Merlin didn’t want to be found, then he wouldn’t.

 

And if the note he left in his flat was anything to go by, then the warlock most definitely did not want to be found.

 

And that, well that just downright _terrified_ Arthur. The note Merlin had left was undoubtedly a goodbye.

 

Which meant that the self-sacrificing idiot was planning something immensely, unbelievably stupid. If only Arthur knew what…

 

Just then, as if summoned by Arthur’s stressful musings, the computer in front of the inspector made a soft ‘ping’.

 

Arthur started, jumping a bit before quickly tapping at the keys, wide-eyed. There had been a facial match.

 

_There had been a facial match._

 

Mouth suddenly dry, the inspector quickly scrolled through the program page, coming to a stop on a grain picture of – _yes_ – Merlin.

 

His face was grim, straight, set in a mask of what Arthur could only consider power. Weariness, too, was evident. Then a small icon popped up on the edge of the screen, and Arthur was brought back to reality. He had Merlin. Now he needed to act fast.

 

The inspector clicked on the icon, bringing up a zoomed in video feed of the warlock. He was walking, silently shoving his way through a crowd, head held and hands shoved into his pockets.

 

Arthur frowned, closing out of the eerily familiar video – after all, the space where the crowd was was oddly recognizable. If only he could put his finger on it.

 

Disregarding the sense of déjà vu, the inspector instead began to click through the program, pulling up the coordinates of the video shot –

 

“Oh my god…” Arthur stared, mouth agape, at the screen. He reentered the command, the coordinates nevertheless coming back as the same location.

 

Of _course_.

 

Arthur was up, shoving his computer into his backpack, half eaten meal forgotten. But even as he was moving towards the door, there was a shout – coming from the waitress currently watching the telly. Arthur didn’t want to see, but he turned around and yes – god, yes – the screen was panning out on the crowd, showing the crowd before zooming in – jumpy, like the camera-man was himself shaking – on the figure standing where Uther Pendragon had been mere minutes ago.

 

Arthur was stuck, standing there, mesmerized as the familiar lithe body turned, shock of black hair whipping around his face in the unnatural wind.

 

And there he was. Merlin. Staring into the camera, seemingly through the camera, eyes deep and churning even through the grainy telly.

 

Arthur felt the air punched out of his chest, unable to breathe from the weight of emotion crashing over him. He nearly staggered, only shaking himself a moment later, eyes glancing away before immediately coming back to the screen.

 

And well, that was just in time to see the screen go white.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yikes. Haha. Well that is just a shitty way to end the chapter :P Well, soon enough the story is going to be over! Only 2-3 chapters left!
> 
> Until next time!


	18. The Sun also Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this story to silver_hearted_girl. I don’t know who you are, where you’re from, or anything about you really, except that you're the type of person who deserves a lot more than just a small merthur fanfiction. Because honestly, you're the type of person that keeps fandoms going, and you're the type of person every author wishes would discover their works – and for a good reason. I’m enthralled to even think that someone would ever enjoy my works as much as you seem to be, and I hope you smiled as much while reading this as I did when I would read your comments. And if you ever want to come by and actually get to know me, feel free to message me on tumblr at saltyemrys.tumblr.com! 
> 
> Until then, though, I hope you have a good day and enjoy this final chapter!
> 
> \- Amelia

Uther was a formidable opponent.

 

Merlin had spent many years of his life searching for those responsible for the repression of magic users, only to find that it was one of Parliament’s most prominent members. What irony.

 

But the warlock couldn’t let the fact of Uther’s position, let alone his – his _relations_ – stop Merlin from what he was planning to do next.

 

The warlock swallowed past the lump in his throat, letting his mind for a moment wander to the other Pendragon he knew.

 

_Arthur_. The inspector’s brilliant smile, shock of blond hair, knowing smirk, witty speech. Sure, he was flawed, just like any other, but Merlin couldn’t help but let the man grow on him. There was something about Arthur, something archaic, noble, dashingly brilliant, all wrapped up in a cloak of mystery, a mask of indifference, hiding a heart of gold.

 

Merlin couldn’t get enough of him.

 

And _god_ , speaking of irony. The warlock knew what needed to change, now. Uther needed to be dethroned, so to speak. His death had to happen in order to stop the lies, reveal the truth of what must’ve been years of manipulation, destruction and murder.

 

It had to happen, yet Merlin couldn’t help but hate it. Hate the fact that now, now he was forever dooming himself to losing Arthur. To losing any chance of redemption, of a normal life, relationship – love.

 

Everything was going to be dashed to bits, because someone so pure, so loving, so loyal as Arthur could never fall for the murderer of his father.

 

But that – _that_ was something Merlin would just have to live with… if he even survived this.  

 

Merlin sighed, drawn from his thoughts as he was jabbed in the ribs. The warlock huffed, ignoring the rude look he was getting from the people he was currently pushing his way through. Ahead, directly in front of the thief but still seemingly kilometers away, was Uther Pendragon. He was smiling, waving, turning this and that direction as the news cameras followed his every motion, and the crowd murmured in anticipation.

 

The thief paused for a moment, eyes sliding away from the object of his attentions and instead glossing over the crowd.

 

But that was only for a moment, and then Merlin’s resolve grew, and the warlock’s face hardened once again.

 

Soon enough, he had pushed his way through the crowd, emerging near the stairs at the foot of the dais. There were security guards blocking the way, but they look uninterested, scanning the crowd with only minimal concern.

 

The warlock sucked in a breath, steeling himself one last time.

 

Then, without further ado, the Dragonlord stepped forward.

 

 

***

 

 

Merlin let the power roll into his body, coming in in waves, washing through his vacant, empty core and sparking across his skin. Magic, older than man, older than time – magic of the feral, the wild, the _dragon_ – manifested in the warlock’s vessel of a body.

 

And for once, Merlin not only let it, but encouraged it. For this, he needed power, he needed nature and land and earth. And so the warlock reached to the ground, to the ley lines that crisscrossed underneath the crust of the earth, underneath parliament, the crowd – even underneath Uther himself.

 

To Merlin’s left, he heard a gasp – then a growing murmur. The warlock didn’t have to turn, though, to know that it was working. His eyes were golden, his body was taut.

 

The warlock breathed in, letting the magic within him swell alongside the air in his lungs. Then he let his breath out, head moving up, eyes meeting the guard before him’s.

 

The man started, hand moving to the taser taped to his side. Merlin anticipated his intentions, though, and was already flinging him aside even as the guard’s fingers grazed the handle.

 

And that was when chaos descended.

 

There was a scream, then many, and then Merlin was releasing the last restraints on his magic – the _earth’s_ magic. The doors and windows slammed shut, locking on their own accord. The great hall was brilliantly lit by a flash that should’ve left stains on the warlock’s eyes.

 

Merlin heard a faint pop over the exclamations rising from the crowd, and raised his hand accordingly.

 

The bullets stood, silent, held in the air by nay more than the Dragonlord’s will, a mere half-meter away.

 

Merlin turned, his eyes fixing on the guard across the hall who was now staring in disbelief at the warlock, emptied gun still held – forgotten – in front of him.

 

He tossed the gun from the man’s hand, tilting his head to the side for show.

 

“Stop him! _Stop_ _him_!”

 

Merlin paused, recognizing the voice and wishing very much that he didn’t. The warlock turned; face a mask of placid calm as his eyes landed on Uther Pendragon.

 

The man was standing on the stage, knuckles white as they gripped the podium. His face was red, his voice loud and demanding even as he shouted at the guards currently frozen in their respective places.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for?!”

 

The men looked among themselves, then looked back to Merlin. The warlock restrained from rolling his eyes, instead tossing them into the walls, effectively stopping any offensive attack on Uther’s part.

 

By now the crowd was still frantic, though calmer. Merlin didn’t particularly mind, though, for the people near him immediately moved aside, pushed out of his way, avoiding making contact with such a buzzing entity.

 

Merlin began to move again, reveling in the heady feeling of the magic within him, around him, _attracted_ to him. This – this was what he had been hiding from, _avoiding_? Something so natural, so _alive_? The warlock couldn’t help but enjoy it – _bask_ in it – even as a small voice at the back of his mind screamed bloody murder. _To watch out. To not let it take over._

 

Merlin ignored the voice, listening instead to the cooing of the magic running through his veins.

 

He mounted the stairs.

 

Uther turned to look at him, eyes burning, face draining as Merlin ascended onto the platform.

 

“You -!” He sputtered, and Merlin had to applaud the man for holding his ground.

 

After all, weaker men had run from lesser threats. But no, Uther was a Pendragon, and would never back down.

 

“Uther Pendragon,” Merlin said, his voice deep and foreboding. The room fell under a hush at this, the crowd seeming to calm even as the shadows grew stronger and the lights began to flicker. Merlin could feel something within him, growing, clawing, roaring to be let free. Something ancient, powerful, _deadly_.

 

He was Emrys, magic itself, last Dragonlord, the world’s first and last warlock.

 

He was the judge, jury and executioner of the Old Religion. Nay – he was more than that. He was the Old Religion’s puppet, vessel, _manifestation_ –

 

And the magic, the earth, the shadows, even to an extent the _crowd_ , seemed to recognize that.

 

Uther didn’t back down, though, even when he certainly must’ve sensed it – the change in atmosphere. The man ignored it, instead squaring his shoulders and saying uselessly,

  
“I want this man under arrest immediately!”

 

Merlin ignored him, instead turning to face the crowd. The warlock took a moment to make sure all the cameras were working, pointed still at the stage. Then, he spoke:

 

“I am here today for one reason, and one reason only. My people have been tormented for far too long, thrust into myth and hiding on fear of death, by this man – Uther Pendragon!”

 

His voice resonated, strong, echoing, sounding like a multitude as the statement went on. Faintly, the warlock registered that these weren’t his intended words. But as soon as the thought was in his brain, it was being pushed aside, the magic once again surging through him, _in him_ –

 

No one dared speak. Faintly, Merlin registered the slight twanging in his eyes – a sign that they were still glowing golden. The room was fading, growing darker as the shadows at the edge of it expanded, moving, sentient. A wind began to whip up, first a breeze then growing.

 

“Uther Pendragon. You believe him to be some sort of champion, trustworthy. Yet he hides the truth, the truth that he tortures and murders every day hundreds – _thousands_ – of people. Our people. Our _children_. Do you know who you follow? Do you know his wicked ways?”

 

The wind was whipping around the room, a circle, a torrent, grabbing loose papers and tossing them about. Merlin ignored it, though, barely feeling it, only feeling the magic within him, the magic now controlling him, the deities of the Old Religion that were now using his body as a puppet – a spokesperson.

 

Faintly, he recognized the buzz of his magic – their magic – snaking out in veins, tendrils, grabbing onto the individuals of the crowd, holding them in place.

 

“Who are our children? Sorcerers, magic users, creatures of the Old Religion. You know us as myth and legend because that is what the _Pendragon_ ,” the voice coming from the warlock’s mouth nearly spit the title. “Wishes for you to believe. He has killed and bribed and deceived in order to keep it that way.”

 

There was a scream, faint and distant over the sound of the wind. It came to the warlock through cottony ears. 

 

“I, Merlin Wyllt, known as Emrys by both the Gods of the Old Religion and you mere mortals, do sentence you, Uther Pendragon, to death for your crimes against our kind.”

 

And right then, even as Merlin willed for the words to stop flowing from his mouth, for the enchantment to not fall from his lips, for his arm to not raise, it nevertheless did. Faintly, the warlock realized he was _no longer in control of his body_.

 

But it was too late then. The gods of the Old Religion were already inside, appeased by the offer of a Dragonlord vessel.

 

And it was then, as his body stopped listening to him, stopped responding, that Merlin realized two things: the first, that once again he had underestimated his powers – the second that he was _not powerful enough_.

 

Once again, Merlin was a puppet – a slave to another. Just like he had been to the Great Dragon, just as he had been to heroin, just as he had _always_ been since William’s death.

 

Only this time, Merlin doubted he would be able to escape.

 

 

***

 

 

Arthur ran.

 

He’d taken one look at the screen and dropped his bag, instead running out of the café and flagging a taxi. The driver was only able to get so far, though, for it was rush hour traffic.

 

When the cab came to a stop at the end of a long line of traffic, the inspector had quickly thrown a stack of bills on the dash, kicking the door open and setting off at a run towards the building four blocks ahead.

 

Arthur was somewhat out of breath when he reached the grand double doors leading into the ancient building, cursing himself for letting his body get so out of shape.

 

He leaned on the door a moment before grabbing the knob, yanking backwards.

 

…only –

 

Arthur grunted, trying again. Yet the doors wouldn’t open, wouldn’t even budge. _Merlin_.

 

_Merlin was in there, this was probably Merlin’s doing –_

 

_Merlin._

 

The inspector began to bang on the door, yelling, shoving at it.

 

 

***

 

 

Merlin began to fight it.

 

At first, he had wanted to see Uther dead. He had craved the moment that the tyrant would be gone forever. Yet now – now this hatred, this angry inside of him –

 

It wasn’t his.

 

True, there was reason to be angry, there was reason to harbor hatred for the man who was responsible for all this. Yet Merlin couldn’t help but feel like murdering him without trial, without reason, it was _wrong_.

 

And so the warlock fought them, even as he knew it was fruitless. He pushed back, pulling at the edges of his magic, trying to delay the inevitable, trying to reign in that which was already out there.

 

He felt something give, the barest nudge –

 

Yet it wasn’t enough, and soon enough the magic within him conquered once more, and Merlin was once again staring Uther down, starting over his incantation.

 

 

***

 

 

Without warning, the door gave.

 

Arthur gave a yelp of surprise, falling back as the door easily swung open, all evidence of it being firmly shut mere moments ago gone.

 

The inspector only paused for a moment before shooting up to his feet and shoving his way into the building.

It was eerily empty. The hallways were vacant, the lights overhead either burnt out or flickering.

 

Arthur ignored the ominous atmosphere, though, instead running through the maze of corridors until he came to the gilded set of doors that led to the grand hall in which he knew Uther, Parliament, the crowd – and Merlin, god yes, _Merlin_ – would be.

 

He swallowed, staring at the entrance for only a moment before trying the handle.

 

To his surprise, it clicked easily, turning with scarcely more than a squeak. Arthur frowned at this, wondering vaguely why he hadn’t run into any fleeing civilians if the door was _open_ –

 

But then he was turning the knob and shoving inward, taking a step inside the room –

 

The wind was what hit him first. An actual, honest-to-god force, it was. The inspector staggered, nearly falling on his ass, but saving himself at the last minute. Looking up, he realized that the wind wasn’t natural, and he wasn’t faring much better than the rest of the inhabitants of the room – the whole crowd, he realized. The wind was a torrent, tinted with a faint, sparkling, unnatural hue – the epicenter at the far side of the hall, a pair of figures on the stage –

 

With a sinking realization, Arthur watched as the crowd bundled in on itself, the people kept within the bounds of the unnatural airstream by something that he could only believe to be… magic-based. And then it was much clearer.

 

Because Arthur was moving forward now, despite the wind, shoving his way past the crowd even as each and every person just stood there, blank, a faint spider web of gold underlying their skin, eyes glazed over and mouth slack. Arthur didn’t stop to see if they were okay, though, not when his sights were set on the stage, where none other than Merlin and Uther were squared off, facing each other, the warlock’s arm tense and sticking out at a sharp angle from his body.

 

The magic in the room, it wasn’t the magic Arthur knew to be Merlin’s. It was something different, more dangerous, more devious, more _feral_ and less tame. Even as the inspector kept his pace towards the stage it began to tug and prickle at his skin.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, watching as a glow began to engulf the warlock’s hand, close enough to see that Uther, too, seemed to have a faint, golden tangle of lines snaking underneath his skin.

 

Merlin didn’t respond, though, instead standing rigid still, arm outstretched, tremors moving through his body. Arthur was at the bottom of the stairs when he realized, finally _realized_ , that there was something very, _very_ wrong with the warlock.

 

Merlin’s eyes were gold.

 

Not just the iris, but the whole _eye_ – whites and all. Furthermore, there was a black tint to the warlock’s veins, snaking underneath his skin.

 

Arthur was startled at the realization, stilling for a moment. But then his wits came back to him, and the inspector was mounting the stairs, shouting the thief’s name once more, trying to be heard over the wailing of the wind.

 

“Merlin! _Merlin_! God dammit!”

 

Arthur tried to run to the warlock, to take him in his arms, only to find his way blocked by a shield of sorts. Arthur pounded at the invisible barrier, watching as Merlin’s lips moved, halting every so often as though caught in a fight against speaking or not.

 

And that was when Arthur realized it.

 

Merlin was – was _possessed_. Somehow. By something.

 

And he was fighting it.

 

At this realization the inspector yelped, then yelled louder, his voice traveling over the wind, and it must’ve reached the warlock’s ears, because Merlin’s body was jerking now, the tremors getting more intense.

 

“Fight it, Merlin! God dammit, fight it!”

 

Arthur banged his fist against the invisible wall once more –

 

Then it was gone.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur gasped, running to his lover, only halting a moment at the sight of Merlin’s faintly buzzing skin before he realized he didn’t _care_ if he was hurt by touching the warlock’s skin. He would never care, not when it came to Merlin, _his_ Merlin.

 

“Merlin, _Merlin_ … Are you there? Fight it Merlin, you fucking idiot…” Arthur was gripping hopelessly at the warlock’s thrumming body now, wrapping his arms around the thinner man.

 

Instead of responding, though, the warlock’s voice only picked up, raising in volume and speed, the incantation falling from his lips.

 

Arthur was not one to give up, but it was in that moment when he knew, for the first time truly knew, hopelessness. “Merlin, please… _I love you_ …” Tears were streaming down his face, soaking into the warlock’s shirt. The words were soft, barely a whisper.

 

And then, just like that, the wind stopped.

 

 Merlin went limp, falling slack in Arthur’s grip.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now all that's left is the epilogue ;)


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That's it, then. Going to be sad to see this one end, but alas I can't draw it out any further! I hope everyone enjoys this last bit! <3

 

**Epilogue**

 

_Arthur took Merlin away from the hall, leaving before the police showed up. Merlin let himself be led, the other man’s jacket slung over his shoulders, down back alleys and side streets. He was numb, yet more conscious that ever before._

_Everything thrummed, the trees and sidewalk and buildings and sky. Everything was vibrant, the colors hot and overexposed. He gripped at Arthur’s arm, fingers digging into his bare skin, murmuring about needing to stop._

_Arthur nodded, pulling Merlin to a small park, hidden between a series of flats and small Indian restaurant._

_Merlin nodded, not really knowing why, and lay back on the soft patch of grass._

_Arthur did as well, silent and compliant, not speaking of what had just happened, not speaking of what would happen._

_He merely laid there with Merlin, trailing his eyes on the stars above, watching them in their silent vigil._

_Time passed, the world moved on, slowly._

_And then soon enough, so did they._

_***_

The judge banged the gavel, announcing the ruling closed for the rest of the day. Noise began to pick up, the room buzzing with murmured voices as the occupants filed out the ancient wooden doors.

Merlin, being near the front, was one of the last to leave.

As he walked out, the thief loosened his tie, enjoying for a moment the feeling of the spring sun on his skin. He closed his eyes, letting his breathing even out as he processed the most recent turn of events in the rulings.

When Merlin opened his eyes a moment later, he was no longer alone.

“I didn’t peg you as one to meditate in front of court houses, myself.” Arthur said, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips.

Merlin snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yes, well, first I was not meditating, I was enjoying the weather. And second, I didn’t peg _you_ as one to go creeping up on people.”

Arthur grinned at this, rubbing his chin. “Touché.” He murmured, seemingly lost in thought.

There was a pause then, both men standing there, neither finding the need to speak. The silence stretched on, somehow managing to not become awkward, the sounds of London’s midday crowd filling in the gaps.

Then, finally, Arthur turn to Merlin again, his face soft yet resolute.

“You know… I don’t believe we got off on the right foot.”

Merlin raised an incredulous brow, snorting. “You _don’t_ , do you?”

Arthur’s uncharacteristically shy expression changed, turning into a more familiar grin. “No, I don’t. It’s a pity, really. I think at a different time we could’ve gotten along smashingly.”

“ _Smashingly_?” Merlin repeated, a grin of his own growing.

“Yes, absolutely smashingly,” Arthur repeated, knocking his shoulder against Merlin’s. “Which is why I think I’d like to give you a chance for another try.”

Merlin guffawed, his mouth dropping open. “ _You’re_ going to give _me_ another try?! You really are an egotistical prat!”

“And you’re an absolutely clueless idiot,” Arthur retorted.

“Why you rude, obnoxious –“ Merlin began, but Arthur stopped him with a firm hand over the warlock’s lips.

“Shush, yes my dear, I already know,” Arthur gave a quick, breath-taking grin. “Stay silent?”

Merlin nodded, his eyes squinting in distrust.

Arthur removed his hand, his eyes locking on Merlin’s. He took one of the warlock’s hands in his own, very serious.

“Now what I was saying, Merlin, before you so rudely interrupted –“ Merlin made an affronted noise, but closed his mouth when Arthur shot him an eyebrow. “Is that I was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me, sometime?”

Merlin’s face was unreadable. Arthur fidgeted, suddenly feeling a fool for grabbing the warlock’s hand.

But then that look grew, blooming in a glorious, natural, pure expression of joy. Merlin grinned, something that Arthur had seen far too little on the other man.

“I thought you’d never ask, prat.”

And then Arthur grinned too, only breaking it when Merlin drew him close, leaning down a bit in order to touch their lips.

 

***

 

By no means was the mess Merlin and Arthur made resolved, and for a long time it probably wouldn’t be. There would be many, many more court meetings and legal affairs and private and public statements. There were still people missing, and stacks of paperwork to be filed before anything could be shut down – Lakeside included. Arthur was still out of a job, and Merlin was still technically wanted for theft.

Their world was a messy, the threads of their lives a sloppy pile of intertwined pieces. Magic was new and strange and hiding in plain sight, and the way Emrys, the Dragonlord and Warlock, fit into it all was still uncertain.

But that didn’t matter, at least not at the moment, and certainly not when Arthur was pulling out a chair for Merlin, tucking his date into his seat at a small, quaint Italian restaurant on the far side of the Thames. Because even if the world was in shambles, their lives having fallen into respective chaos, worry could only get them so far. Because maybe things were bad at the moment, a fine mess indeed – that wasn’t how it always would be.

Someday, they were going to be alright.

And that, that had Merlin, head tucked into Arthur’s chest as they lay asleep in their flat, fingers and limbs intertwined, smiling.

Someday, they were going to be just fine.

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. definitely sad to see this one going! It was a fun ride. Well, writing it was nice. My life actually fell apart for a while there (currently picking up the pieces) and I wrote this to cope. But the end of this just means it's time for me to start something new. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who kudo'd or commented on this fic, or even just read it, y'all are the best! <3


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